


Fear and Forgiveness

by ACelestialDream



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Sith Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, SWTOR, Science Fiction, Sith Pureblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACelestialDream/pseuds/ACelestialDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morda has used her dark-side powers to draw out the passions in many a reluctant soul -- even Jedi -- yet Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, her stiff and proper ship’s pilot, resists her advances.  Quinn keeps his desires tightly in check, unwilling to break protocol, but Morda cannot let Quinn, or any challenge, go unconquered.  Adult scenes.  Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Malavai Quinn snapped shut his suitcase and took a deep breath. He hadn’t had much to pack, living as sparsely as he did, and that was a good thing. He didn’t want to miss the _Fury_ as it left the spaceport. It would be just like a Sith to inform him of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity at the last moment, only to laugh when he missed the ship by minutes. He didn’t think Darth Baras would trick him in this way, but when dealing with Sith, it was wise to be prepared for anything.

He didn’t have time to arrange for delivery of his things, so he would have to carry the suitcase himself. He barely took a look back at the little barracks apartment he’d lived in for the last ten years. He wouldn’t miss it. He slid the door closed behind him and took off briskly for the spaceport. It wasn’t far; with luck he could make it still.

He gripped the suitcase handle and felt his heart pick up pace as the spaceport came into view. Darth Baras’s generosity had been unexpected and he was still reeling from the news. Quinn had languished on Balmorra, this war torn cesspool of a planet, for so long, watching his career stagnate. Still, after being court martialed, Baras had given him a respectable, if unimportant, post, allowing him to stay in military service. Now, he had – finally! – proven himself worthy in the Lord’s eyes. He would not squander this gift.

He was not truly free of Baras’s yoke. Baras had “suggested” that he could find employment onboard the Fury if he presented himself well, and had made it clear that an opportunity like this might not surface again. The Fury was owned by Darth Baras’s apprentice, an up-and-coming Sith in her own right. Quinn knew he was on a leash, but the illusion of freedom was still so gloriously tempting and close. He was stepping out of that bad dream that had been his old life, and new possibilities glittered before him. He must make Morda accept his service. Rejection was unthinkable.

He had worked with Morda during the last few weeks, but still knew little about her. She struck him as arrogant, brazen, and abrupt, but what Sith wasn’t? She had taken his advice in some tactical matters while doing her business here on Balmorra, and had treated him with courtesy, and that gave him hope. He still blushed though at the memory of how she had poked fun at a turn of phrase he had used once, turning it into an innuendo he had not intended. Deriving fun from the discomfort of others was an accepted Sith pastime, but it also could indicate a love for other, more sadistic pleasures. He decided to make every effort to make himself indispensable to this apprentice, so that she would see him as a valuable asset.

He had not taken her flirts seriously of course. It would be unprofessional for one thing, and for another, she was an alien. Her Sith Pureblood lineage gave her considerable clout and respect within the Empire, but that wasn’t enough to keep Quinn from feeling a bit discomfited by her scarlet red skin and alien features. He normally found Sith Purebloods unattractive in general, particularly the dripping facial tendrils on the males and spiky ridges on the females. Morda, at least, was inoffensive to look at. He wondered idly if the very elements that made her more tolerable to him made her less attractive to those of her own kind. Her face was more humanlike than many he’d seen, sporting only some strong, pointed eyebrow ridges and some slight striations along her cheekbones. Her skin was a fiery red though, as were her eyes. He could still picture the devious mirth in them when she laughed.

Quinn stepped into the spaceport and stopped to adjust his collar. His future rode on this moment. He hoped luck was with him.

00o00

It was turning out to be a terrible birthday. Morda watched impassively as the man before her struggled and slowly turned blue. As his life drained away, however, so did her anger. This little peon obviously knew nothing so there was no need to belabor the point. She remembered he’d been trying to say something before she had started to force choke him. She released her hand and dropped him to the ground.

“What were you blathering about?”

The man coughed and sputtered before finding his voice.

“My lord, the manager approves all the parts. I just install them! You should talk to him.”

“Where is he?”

The mechanic pointed behind her at a doorway leading to a room off the spaceship hangar. Morda strode through the door and found the manager inside, a slimy worm of a man if she ever saw one. He spotted her and licked his lips nervously.

“I’ll never buy from that manufacturer again. Swindlers, all of them! I didn’t have any idea!”

“My lord,” Morda’s slave girl spoke up from behind her. “That was cheap, aftermarket tampering. If that fluid had leaked into the circuits, the heating coils would have fried. We’d have reached outside temperature in minutes. Instant Sith popcicle, I tell ya.”

The manager’s eyes widened. He gaped a moment like a dying fish and then spun around to make a clumsy dash for the door.

Morda let him run a bit, watching as he ran heedlessly across the wide open hangar floor towards the far side. Then she reached for one of her lightsabers. The brilliant red blade hummed to life and she raised her arm, aimed quickly and gave it a sharp throw. It buzzed through the air, spinning in a flat circle several times before connecting with his body in a flash of light. His arms flung out wildly and he fell, his shirt smoking. Morda threw out her hand and called the blade back again before it could hit the floor. It spun back towards her and she caught it and sheathed it in one smooth motion.

“Aren’t there any decent mechanics in these parts, Vette?” She scowled and Vette shrugged.

00o00

At last, the work order fulfilled and her ship ready for flight, Morda stepped into the spaceport hanger. She was making quick strides towards the gang plank when she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. She pivoted and reached for her saber.

“My lord.” The man threw out his hands and took a step backwards.

“Lieutenant Quinn,” Morda said. “I was not expecting you.” She was eager to lift off, but this was the man who had assisted her in hunting down and killing a Jedi. She was curious now as to what he was doing here.

“I came unannounced,” he said. “Darth Baras has given me leave to start a new assignment, so I’m here now to pledge myself to you. I’m ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit, if you’ll have me.” 

Quinn dropped to one knee with his head bowed, looking down at his perfectly shined shoes. Most imperials were trained to be respectful and duty-bound, but from what she had seen, Quinn expected no less than perfection from himself and others. Morda wondered if he also had the courage and flexibility to manage the type of dangerous missions she frequently underwent.

He began to list off his varied skills, which were impressive: piloting, military strategy and tactics, marksmanship. He needn’t have tried so hard. Morda had seen a bit of his work first hand and knew his value. With Quinn on board, she could finally start building a real crew.

Morda felt a little thrill pass through her. Quinn struck her as a bit uptight and rule-obsessed, but she had sensed a deep well of emotional potential in him. He had blushed so prettily the one time she had teased him. This could prove interesting.

After he’d finished talking, Morda rubbed her chin thoughtfully a moment, just to watch him squirm. Then she smiled indulgently at him.

“Offer accepted, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Quinn replied. “You will not regret this.”

It didn’t take long to get Quinn settled. He’d barely brought anything with him, although he did immediately make arrangements for a shipment of additional uniforms to be picked up at their next stop planetside. Morda was getting him acquainted with the bridge when she heard a call on the holoterminal coming in.

“Vette, take that call for me,” she called out. She turned back to see Quinn lightly touching the controls on the flight console. He had stood at parade rest the entire time she had been showing him the bridge and this was the first time Morda had seen him do anything other than nod and say, “Yes, my lord.” The gesture lasted only a moment, but Morda saw a longing in the way his fingertips grazed the controls.

“Has it been a long time since you last piloted a ship, Lieutenant?”

“Darth Baras sent me on a few assignments, but I underwent regular flight simulations to stay sharp during my stay on Balmorra. I graduated at the top of my class.”

“I wasn’t doubting your credentials, Quinn,” Morda said, unable to hide the amusement in her voice. “I was just asking a question.”

“Of course, my lord. My mistake.”

The man was wound as a tight as a spring, she thought. Their first meeting, in his office back on Balmorra, had made a curious impression. She had walked into the room to catch him fiercely berating a soldier for a poor performance. The anger coming off of him then had been a palpable force, and the look on his face had been set and hard. After dismissing the soldier, he spotted Morda, and what she saw next was like a door slamming shut with enough force to knock the wind out of the room. Gone were the rage and the fire in his eyes, to be instantly replaced with a bland, respectful countenance, his voice quickly modulated and under control. It was only right that he address her with deference, but Morda was struck by the abruptness of the transition, and the contrast between the two emotive extremes. _The first is the real Quinn,_ she thought, _the man he hides with a zeal bordering on desperation._

“My lord…”

It was Vette, standing in the doorway. Morda nodded for her to speak.

“Your mother is on the holo.”

At least someone had remembered her birthday. Morda left the bridge.

The image of a tall, statuesque Pureblood woman flickered in the air above terminal. She had her hair coiffed elaborately and was wearing enough make-up that it could be seen even through the holo.

“My!” she said when Morda entered the room. “That new slave of yours is such a doll! And those freckles! You know how hard it is to breed Twi’leks for freckles? She’s a bit high-spirited though, isn’t she? How are things coming along with her? I see you’ve got her collar off. That confident already?”

“It goes back on when we are off the ship,” Morda said. “She still tests her limits sometimes, but responds well to the reward system.”

“Good, good. I see so many first-timers make the same mistakes. Too lenient or too strong, you know. One extreme or the other. Well!” Her mother cocked her head and pouted. “I was going to get you a slave for your birthday, but now you’ve already got one. You have any trouble, just come to me and I’ll switch her out for a more docile girl and we can take over her training.”

A tinny voice boomed from somewhere beyond the sight of the holo camera. “How will she ever learn, Morella, if you take over for her?”

Morella twitched an eyebrow and smiled back knowingly at Morda. “At least I could offer, being your birthday and all. Happy birthday, dear!”

“Thank you.”

“Ooh,” Morella said. “Now who is this?”

Morda turned to see that Quinn had stepped into the room behind her.

“Mother, this is Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, newly arrived to my crew. Quinn, this is my mother, Lord Morella.”

Quinn bowed politely to the holo image. “My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Morella cooed. Morda made a mental note to keep her mother away from the Lieutenant should they ever find themselves in the same room.

“Well, dear,” her mother said. “I’ll send something along for you, all right? Your father is-” she paused, frowning as she looked off camera. “-busy with his Corellian cocktail. He’s still in a funk over the death of his last apprentice. The boy was a waste of space if you ask me, but it looks bad, you know. Three in a row like that.”

“He needs to pick them better,” Morda said.

“That’s what they’re all saying. That he’s losing his touch, or that he’s growing weak and purposely choosing ones that won’t ever be able to challenge him. He sends birthday wishes, or he would anyway, if he could get his face out of his cup.”

“Thanks,” Morda said. Morella gave a nod and the holo fizzed out.

00o00

When Quinn went to inspect his new quarters on the ship, he discovered that there had been an error in his room assignment. The Twi’lek slave girl’s meager possessions were strewn across one of the bunks. He could’ve sworn that Morda had directed him to this room, but perhaps she had been distracted when he had posed the question. He went to her immediately and informed her of the oversight. To his chagrin, she laughed at him.

“Have you seen the size of this ship, Lieutenant? You will sleep in the crew’s quarters with the rest of the crew.”

Quinn was incredulous. “My lord, there is no other crew yet. Just the slave. And a...a female one at that. Surely you don’t mean--”

“Are you questioning me, Quinn?” One spiked eyebrow rose and the mirth dropped from Morda’s face as if it had never been. Was it just his imagination or was there a tightness growing around his throat? He immediately retreated.

“No! Of course not, my lord. Please excuse my confusion. The ship is, as you say, much smaller than any I have previously served on. The accommodations will be adequate for my needs, I am sure.”

“Good. Get settled and meet me on the bridge.”

Quinn gave Morda a succinct bow and retreated to the crew’s quarters. It was highly inappropriate for a man of his rank to be bunking with a slave girl. Was Morda testing him? That had to be it. But what game was she playing? Perhaps assigning himself to this Sith had been a mistake. He would need to adjust his attitude if he wanted to stay on her good side.

The following day when he came off duty, he discovered the slave’s things were gone. In fact, he could see her mattress and bedding sitting on the floor through the open door of Morda’s room. Finally, the Sith had figured out where a personal slave really belonged. His satisfaction turned to humiliation though when he later learned that the slave had apparently complained about bunking with him. That a slave would even consider lodging an actual complaint was ridiculous in and of itself, but even more ludicrous was the implication that her complaint had been acted on and not his. He took a deep breath. She was trying to get him to slip up somehow, to trick him into making a mistake. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about taking him on board. If so, why not just fire him? Quinn didn’t understand Morda at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn sat now at a desk in the med bay, carefully cataloging the ship supply list. When that was done, he crossed it off his schedule and looked over the rest of his “to-do” list. He heard a rustle from the doorway and looked up to see Morda’s bright, unnatural red eyes watching him. He got to his feet and gave her a respectful bow.

“Is there something I can assist you with, my lord?”

“How are you adjusting to your new post, Lieutenant?”

“I have acquainted myself with the ship and its controls, and the ship has responded extremely well to my optimizations. I am pleased to report that we are operating at peak efficiency, my lord.”

“Good to hear. Are you settled now into your quarters?”

Was this a reference to the incident with the Twi’lek slave? Quinn was uncertain of how to respond. He decided to ignore any possible inferences and respond only to the question itself. 

“Indeed, my lord. You will find them spotless and in order.”

“I’m sure.” Morda’s lips curled into a smile and she leaned against the doorframe, saying nothing more. This perpetuated an awkward moment of silence that Quinn didn’t know how to fill. Finally she spoke again. “Quinn, your demeanor makes me tense. Work on loosening up.”

Quinn nodded. She was paying him entirely too much scrutiny for his liking. “I see,” he said. “Actually my lord, I don’t see. Is that an order or are you testing my professionalism?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m going to get a kick out you, I can tell.”

Quinn waited for a more enlightening answer, but got none. Instead she changed the subject.

“Clear a space in your busy schedule for tomorrow night. I’m going to need you.”

“Of course,” Quinn said quickly. “I am at your disposal. May I ask what it is that you require me for?”

“You’re escorting me to a party.”

“A…a party, my lord?” He had heard that some Sith lords took their power over underlings to an extreme that was well out of professional bounds. He began to wonder at Morda’s intentions. Exactly what skills of his was she hoping to utilize?

“Since my mother couldn’t get me a slave for my birthday, she has decided to throw me a party instead. I can’t show up alone, of course. Let me show you off in that shiny dress uniform of yours.” She grinned.

Quinn feared the worst. “That is hardly the best use of me, my lord.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Lieutenant.”

00o00

They were greeted at the door to Morda’s parent’s estate by a Twi’lek slave, who announced their names in a booming baritone that echoed throughout the cavernous lobby. As they approached the ballroom, Quinn surveyed the attendees, noticing that there were very few non-force users and quite high number of Sith Purebloods. Even in this setting, with the guests performing at their most genial best, the Purebloods’ severe faces looked hostile and cunning to Quinn’s eyes. Many a hip carried a discretely worn lightsaber, casually hidden under a delicate sash or embroidered robe. The women wore their hair in elaborate, fanciful styles and the men sported sharply cut robes with dramatic shoulder guards. Their red faces turned to him curiously, glittered with piercings made of jewels and metals.

Quinn straightened his cuffs, wondering if he shouldn’t have had this uniform custom tailored for a better fit. Morda tossed her overcoat to a servant and clasped Quinn’s hand, adding an unexpected squeeze, and then led him through the archway into the ballroom. The row of tiny calluses pressed against his palm was the only reminder of the warrior she normally was. For her birthday celebration she had donned a short dress that shimmered with all the colors of a fall sunset. One moment it rippled around her like a breeze and the next it clung to her lithe curves in a most distracting way. Quinn adjusted his collar and let her lead him into the crowd.

Quinn had not known what to expect from this Sith party. Such gatherings were as varied and unpredictable as the Sith themselves, with some of the more notorious celebrations earning reputations for wonton vice or unprecedented cruelty. Morda’s party cast a more elegant vibe, and Quinn hoped it would stay that way, even after the drinks had been flowing and the night reached its peak.

A group of live musicians played a stately tune in the far corner, and couples were slowly converging on the dance floor. Morda leaned against Quinn’s shoulder. “Do you know how to dance, Lieutenant?”

“Of course. The academy offered classes in all the social dances and etiquette.”

He felt Morda’s breath against his ear, heralding her quiet laugh. “I’m sure you passed with stellar marks. Perhaps I’ll take you to the cantinas sometime, to see what other kinds of dancing you can do. Did they offer a class in that?”

“I’m afraid not, my lord.”

“I’ll have to teach you in private then.” Quinn felt his cheeks flame with heat. She tugged him out onto the ballroom floor and drew him close. He was certain that this dance called for at least two hand-spans of distance between partners, but she disregarded that rule, sidling up to him and winding an arm over his shoulder. He was keenly aware of every swell of her body against his through the thin material of her dress, and terribly self-conscious about the placement of his hands. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips, a constant reminder of how that same skin was normally well hidden beneath her armor. She touched her cheek to his, her prominent alien brow ridges gently tickling his temple. Quinn felt flushed and vaguely disoriented. It had been too long since he had done this sort of thing. There was no other explanation for why she was affecting him in this way. When the dance ended, she held his gaze, her face entirely too close to his. Quinn cleared his throat and was the first to look away.

Next, they made the social rounds, greeting each guest and sharing random pleasantries. Oh, Quinn held no illusions that this was all innocent banter. Every word, every phrase, was a carefully crafted statement of power and a constant testing of boundaries. Quinn remained a quiet shadow as Morda was congratulated on her apprenticeship to Baras, and nodded politely when introduced. He watched and he took mental notes, committing each name to memory and making judgments of who was a likely friend or foe.

Servants brought around pastries and refilled glasses. Most of the desserts were too sweet for Quinn’s tastes, but he tried the plainest one he could find out of courtesy. Finally, Morda led him over to a plush couch and pulled him down beside her. The couch swallowed him up and tilted their bodies together until Morda’s bare shoulder was touching his. He discretely adjusted his seating so that there was more space between them.

“Are you enjoying your party, my lord?”

Morda made a huffing noise, her eyes surveying the room with apparent disinterest. “You mean my mother’s party? My birthday was just an excuse for her to show off her connections.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s the Sith way.”

Quinn didn’t have any response for that, so he quickly changed the subject. He certainly didn’t expect to have anything in common with a Sith, but he did discover that both he and Morda were their parents’ only children. She asked about his family and he gave her simple, straightforward answers, but she persisted until he was forced to open up some under her scrutiny. He told her about his father, who had died when he was a teen, and about how he had known that he wanted to be an officer since he was small. He kept waiting for the moment when Morda’s gaze would wander off in disinterest, or when some joke would be made at his expense, but none came. To a Sith he would always be a subordinate. Morda’s interest and seeming politeness unnerved him.

As it grew late, the music became louder and more boisterous, and the crowd followed suit. Couples sprawled in each other’s arms across the couches and a woman laughed as she sashayed by him, a burst of expensive perfume following in her wake. Morda excused herself for a moment, leaving him alone. Quinn found a quiet corner to wait in, with a vantage point that allowed him to see most of the room. A servant came by and held out a tray with glasses of an unfamiliar blue drink. Quinn cautiously took one. After a short while of crowd-watching, Quinn spotted Morda quickly coming his way, her eyes intent and serious. She placed her back against the wall and turned him towards her. His drink sloshed in his glass but she didn’t appear to notice. Her words tumbled out in a low rush. 

“Kiss me Quinn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My mother is heading this way. Do it now.”

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder and back again. Quinn hesitated, but her obvious exasperation pushed him into action. What was he doing?

He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.

She was hot and sweet and unexpectedly soft. Quinn wasn’t sure what he would have expected, but perhaps the strangeness of most Purebloods had left him thinking that the experience would be unpleasant somehow. It was far from it. Her fingers weaved under his collar and trailed along the back of his neck, and he felt a shiver building along the base of his spine. She held him locked in the kiss for far longer than he had ever intended, until he had to break away to suck in a breath of air. She smiled at him and he wondered if he looked as dazed as he felt. 

He needed a drink. He tilted his glass for a sip but Morda’s arm struck out and grabbed his wrist before he could touch the glass to his lips.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“One sip of that stuff and you’ll be banging every woman here who so much as looks at you.”

He stared at her.

“Not that I wouldn’t find that amusing to watch, mind you, but not here. Not at one my _mother’s_ little sex romps.”

Quinn almost choked. He quickly set the glass down on the nearest table.

“I see.”

“It’s time for us to go.”

“A wise decision, my lord.”

Morda clasped his hand and led him across the room. Quinn noticed that indeed the guests were getting bolder. From the corner of his vision he saw a human woman with the top of her dress gathered at her waist and a Pureblood man with his face buried against her breasts. Quinn looked away quickly.

Once outside, he could breathe again. He started to release his hand from Morda’s grasp but she clutched him more tightly and kept walking.

“What was your mother intending?”

“She set her sights on you the moment she met you through the holo. If she thinks you’re mine, she’ll most likely leave you alone. You should thank me for rescuing you.”

“I’ll trust your judgment in that then, my lord.”

“Of course, now everyone else knows you’re mine as well.” She shot him a sly smile.

Quinn tried to keep his voice steady and professional. “I am here to serve you, my lord.”

“Indeed.”

00o00

Quinn had been waiting his entire shift for a moment alone with Morda. There were things about his past that he needed her to know. If she had any doubts about his work ethic or abilities he wanted her to know now before he got his hopes up with this new assignment. He had spent the last eight hours on edge, trying to catch the right opportunity, but none had come. Quinn put the ship on autopilot for the night. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

He stepped off the bridge and almost knocked right into Morda outside the door.

“I apologize, my lord. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up at this hour.”

She waved him aside and kept walking. This was obviously a bad time, but the thought had been nagging him all day and Quinn couldn’t give up this chance. “My lord?” He pitched his voice cautiously, prepared to be rebuffed. At least he had tried, or maybe could get her to agree to meet with him later.

She turned. “What is it Quinn?”

“May I…do you have a moment? I would like to speak with you if I may.”

“Of course. You may always speak freely.”

To Quinn’s surprise she approached and gave him her complete attention, fixing him with the typical sharp-eyed stare that Quinn always found a bit too intense for comfort.

“It’s…well. It may take more than a moment of your time, actually.” Maybe he should have waited until tomorrow after all.

“Get on with it, Quinn.”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that there is a reason why I had been posted indefinitely to Balmorra for so long when you found me.”

Morda raised a spiked eyebrow.

Quinn took that as encouragement to continue. “A decade ago I served under Moff Broysc at the Battle of Druckenwell.” Quinn remembered well that day; it had changed the course of his life. “During the battle, the Moff made a critical oversight that brought the fleet to the brink of defeat. I ignored his order, and in doing so, I turned the tide to victory.” He had acted then with little forethought of the repercussions for himself, thinking only of the urgency of the matter and his commitment to duty. He had never felt so high when the moment of victory came, and then short upon it, everything changed: his life, his career, his innocence.

“You showed remarkable initiative. You should be commended.”

Quinn was relieved that Morda had not chosen to focus on how his actions had amounted to insubordination. “That’s not how the Moff saw it,” Quinn said. How naïve it all seemed now. Would he have done it differently in retrospect? He doubted it. But he would have stepped in with his eyes open.

“Broysc took credit for the reversal.” Quinn paused and then added, “Which is fine.” That was the way of superiors after all. He was coming now though to the meat of the matter. “But then he court-martialed me.”

“Couldn’t take someone showing him up now, could he?”

“That is not for me to say,” Quinn said. “My career would have been over after that. Four generations of Generals and Admirals in my family, and I would have been the one to end it. And in disgrace no less. Darth Baras stepped in and had me pardoned and assigned to Balmorra, allowing me to at least save face and still serve in some capacity. However, Moff Broysc has blocked every transfer and promotion I’ve been up for since.” He hoped his story would serve as a warning to Morda. He was no longer on Balmorra, true. Broysc was a thorough man however, obsessed even, and would not hesitate to track Quinn down to ruin this chance at a second start.

“He’s got quite a vendetta against you, hasn’t he? You deserve vengeance.”

“That is not my goal, my lord. I serve you now and that is enough. I hope it will be a new beginning.”

Morda studied him with the look of a scientist encountering a strange new species. “You are remarkable, Quinn,” she said at last. “You can’t tell me that you were not angry over this. You must have worked diligently to have buried it so deeply.” She came closer and reached out to him, her fingertips trailing down the buttons of his coat. “So much untapped potential.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Well, I have my work cut out for me then.” She grinned at him. “See you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

00o00

It had been a long, tiring day and dusk was still hours away yet. Tatooine’s twin suns lay down a visible band of heat that wavered above the sands like the waves of an invisible sea. It reminded Quinn of the ocular signatures that stealth generators sometimes left behind, which made him ever nervous, looking for hidden assailants where there were none. Quinn was reluctant to leave the relative shade and concealment offered by this hidden oasis in the dunes, but it was time.

Morda had fought a sand demon that day and had then smeared herself in its blood in an attempt to recreate some local superstitious ritual. Quinn had hoped he would be spared such an indignity, but she insisted that he do the same, just to be thorough. He’d been on battlefields before, but wallowing in gore on such a personal level ranked up there as one of the more distasteful things he had been forced to do in his career. He obeyed without complaint however. If his lord did not see herself above doing such things to reach her goal, then he certainly would not take issue with the matter either.

Something strange had come of the endeavor, oddly enough. Morda had waded into the waters of the pool here and had seen a vision. She had spoken to someone and had emerged satisfied with whatever she had learned. They were going to great lengths to capture a padawan that Baras wanted found. The padawan’s ability to see into the hearts and minds of others was too valuable – and dangerous – to be left unchained.

Morda stripped off her blood-soaked clothes and returned to the pool to bathe. Quinn waited patiently, averting his eyes when she emerged from the water and signaled that it was his turn. He quickly pulled off his ruined uniform and waded into the pool. Clean water had never felt so good, Quinn decided, and he took his time washing, although he did suspect that Morda was not giving him the same consideration of privacy as he had her. He tried not to notice.

He got dressed and combed his hair, not bothering to wring out any of the water. It would evaporate soon enough and he relished the chance to feel cooler, even if just for a little while. He packed their meager supplies onto the speeders and looked to see if Morda was ready. She was gazing back out at the pool again, her gaze distant and lost. She shivered then and rubbed her arms briefly. Turning, she saw him watching.

“Just a chill. Let’s go now.”

She led the way on her speeder and Quinn followed behind. They were far out in the dune sea, well beyond the Forbidden Pass where locals feared to go. They rode for a long time without stopping, the rise and fall of the dunes all looking the same. If Quinn didn’t know better, he would have wondered if they were driving in circles, for the landscape never changed. At least there were no womp rats here. They had ridden into a nest of them the day before, and while harmless alone, the group of them together had been enough to knock Morda clean off her speeder. She had dispatched them all quickly and they had been on their way again.

Some tall rock formations appeared over the crest of one of the dunes, not far away. They weren’t far now from the entrance to the Pass. They hoped to make it to the nearest Imperial outpost to refresh themselves before venturing back out again tomorrow to find some Jedi hermit, a master who had once taught this elusive padawan that they sought. Hopefully he would know her whereabouts.

Speeders didn’t last long here in the desert. Sand got in the engines and the gages, and even relatively new speeders looked well-worn and scratched after barely a few weeks. Quinn had been nervous about venturing into the dunes beyond the Forbidden Pass. If their speeders had died it would be a long and possibly fatal trek back to civilization. Morda had merely shrugged at the risk when their guide had tried to dissuade them. She would let nothing stand in the way of their goal. Quinn admired her dedication to executing Baras’s orders at least.

He did not like the looks of her speeder now though. It meandered off course several times, wobbling strangely, and the engine sputtered more than once. Quinn watched it carefully as he rode behind Morda. He had been so preoccupied with assessing the state of her speeder, that he was completely shocked when she suddenly tumbled off of it.

Morda landed hard in the sand and Quinn brought his speeder to a quick halt behind her. Her speeder kept going a short ways before toppling over and burying itself deep in the sand. How had he missed this? It was not the speeder that was the problem, but Morda herself.

“My lord!” He flipped her over, shocked at the way her skin felt like it was on fire when he touched her. She blinked up at him, her eyes glassy and dazed.

“Blast,” she said weakly. “Did I fall off? What happened?”

Quinn was fully trained and certified in field medicine, but that was not the same thing as being a doctor by far. His skills involved stabilizing patients so that they could be then brought to a med center for more detailed care. They were far from any med stations now. What was wrong with her? Heat stroke maybe? An illness?

“My lord,” he urged, “did one of the womp rats bite you yesterday by chance?”

“They…a little…it was nothing though…I barely felt it.” She held out her right arm. Quinn pulled back the sleeve and stifled a noise of dismay. There were four small puncture marks on her wrist and the flesh around the bite was swollen and purple.

“You’ve contracted womp rat fever. My lord, you _must_ tell me when these things happen! Can you walk?”

He pulled her to her feet and she took a few wobbly steps by his side before sinking into the sand again. They were not far from the rock chasm now, and he could see that the face of it was riddled with shallow caves. Somewhere there was a passageway through this wall of rock, from an ancient waterway that had once wound through it, that they could follow out of the pass. Quinn did not see any entryway now.

He took a deep breath and brought her to her feet, then encouraged her to lean on him as he led her towards the rock wall. Thankfully they did not have to travel far. The first cave he came to was tall enough to stand in and curled like a sea shell, ending only a short ways around the corner. He deposited Morda here and did his best to make her comfortable. Womp rat fever was easily treated – if you had the right medicine. Without it, it was fatal. Quinn had to find the outpost that he hoped was nearby. It was almost dusk. He did not want to get caught out in the desert at night.

He pulled up a holomap and scanned for signs of nearby life forms. The pass was nearby, and with it, there was….something. Not an Imperial outpost. Maybe a Republic one. No matter. He would find it and take what he needed.

“My lord, I need to leave you. Stay here and wait for me. I will return shortly.” He gave her some water and left her with the canteen propped against her shoulder. _Please don’t die. Not on my watch._

The suns were setting when he came upon the Republic outpost. Well, not an outpost exactly, it was barely a waystation, with a small tent erected as the only shelter, and some crates of supplies. Three Republic grunts manned it. They looked lazy and unaware. Luck was with him today.

Quinn killed them all, efficiently and cleanly, with only a few shots of his blaster. Only one tried to put up a fight, and it took two extra shots to down that one as he dived for cover.

“A Sith takes what she needs,” he quoted to himself, as he had heard Morda say time and again. “And so do those that serve her.” Woe to those who stood in his way.

They had the medicine he needed, plenty in fact. They also had some rations, water, and a few other medical supplies. He took all that he could reasonably carry and headed back out into the desert.

He found Morda unchanged from how he had left her. She was sleeping, or perhaps unconscious. Quinn filled a syringe, working quickly. When he injected it into her upper arm she didn’t even stir. Her breathing was shallow and fast and her heart rate far elevated from where it should be. He hoped he had gotten her the cure in time.

It was growing dark. He pulled her cloak from her pack and arranged it under her head. There was nothing left to do now but wait. He lay down nearby, with his bulky pack as a pillow, and watched the walls of the cave slowly grow dark.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he jolted awake in the deep blackness of night, certain that something had touched him in the dark. He felt it again and stiffened before quickly realizing that it was Morda reaching for him. Her arm slid around his waist and he felt her bury her head against his shoulder.

“Quinn,” she murmured. Her voice sounded scratchy and weak. “It’s so cold. I need your warmth.”

It was cold, he noticed, surprisingly so, now that the suns were hidden beyond the horizon. Quinn rolled over and gingerly felt for her forehead. She was damp, but cool. He breathed a sigh of relief. The fever had broken. Morda was on the mend.

She shivered against him and he realized that the rest of her clothing was soaked from the heat of the fever. “My lord,” he said, “you are going to be alright. You can’t stay in this shirt though.” What could he give her to wear in its place? “You…you can have mine.” He quickly pulled off his uniform, and then worked his way out of the undershirt beneath it. He went to hand it to her but could tell that she was moving slowly and still wrestling with her own garments. He hesitated, not knowing how to handle this intimacy that the situation had thrown them in.

“Damn it Quinn. Help get this thing off me.” It was a relief to hear the old fire in her voice again, and it was all the push he needed. He carefully helped her peel off the damp top, trying not to let his hands mistakenly stray to anywhere that they shouldn’t. He placed his undershirt in her hands. She sighed. “Oh, this is so warm.” He heard the rustle as she slipped it on, and he pulled his uniform top back on as well. It was scratchy and uncomfortable without the undershirt, but it was too cold to do otherwise.

He lay down again, but Morda slid closer, wrapping herself around him and pressing against his back once more. This was not proper for a lord and her subordinate. He could not bring himself to refuse her embrace though. It would feel like a rejection where none was intended. These were unusual circumstances, surely, and it was his duty to keep them both alive and comfortable. Yes, he decided, his job called for different rules in such situations.

He rolled over and gently nudged her to do the same. She made an agreeable noise and fitted herself against him, curling up in his arms. It felt good, he reluctantly admitted. She let out a contented sigh.

“Much better,” she said into the darkness.

00o00

Morda was a fierce and decisive warrior. The first time Quinn saw her leap towards an enemy, her twin lightsabers poised for a strike, he had found himself unable to look away. On the battlefield she was grace in motion and death incarnate. He understood why Darth Baras had chosen her as his apprentice. She cut her enemies down with ruthless precision and none could stand against her.

Quinn found it equally interesting the number of adversaries that she left alive. Groveling Hutts, turncoat Sith, once even an entire squadron of Republic troopers – she found uses for them all as her minions. She took particular pleasure in coercing those from the Republic into doing tasks for her benefit. Still, there were times when Quinn questioned Morda’s confidence in this tactic. Morda had accepted a surrender from one Lord Rathari, a Sith they had tracked across Nar Shaddaa for days, and allowed him to declare his loyalty to her. Sith changed their allegiances like a dancer changing outfits. How could any of them trust one another? Quinn feared that Morda’s plans would backfire on her one day.

Now, Morda had deftly led them to this moment, where they finally hoped to catch the padawan that Baras wanted killed. Quinn was honored that he’d been asked to be at her side for this critical battle. Morda had eliminated the most important people Jaesa cared about, cutting down her former teacher and then her parents as well. Next she hoped to kill the Jedi Master who protected Jaesa. 

She wasn’t like some other Sith lords, who tortured their marks beforehand. She was all business and purpose, which was as it should be. She didn’t shy away from using more the subtle tactics of psychological baiting and manipulation however, and she excelled at it. She was adept at seeking out the secrets that others tried to hide, and at exploiting the cracks in their resolve. Quinn admired her astuteness in these things. It was a sound and effective strategy.

Quinn expected Morda to win this upcoming fight. He had not expected just how successful she would be. She defeated the Jedi Master Noman Karr, an old arch enemy of Darth Baras’s, which was impressive enough. However, she did not kill the man. Instead she left him broken and shamed; fallen from the Jedi virtues he had once clung to. Quinn was surprised. The man had shown such restraint and stubbornness all the while they had chased him, never allowing Morda to goad him into a harsh word or debate. Yet the Jedi had harbored pride in his heart, and Morda had drawn it out of him. By the end of the battle he was noticeably scarred by dark side rage, his overconfidence his own undoing.

Morda’s actions had succeeded in luring out Jaesa. The girl showed up too late to warn her Master, and Quinn felt sure that Morda had left the Jedi alive just so he could witness the moment when Jaesa was struck down by Morda’s blades. However, Morda had other plans, which even Quinn was not privy to.

Jaesa entered the building that day a pure-hearted padawan of the Jedi Order, and left it as Morda’s new dark-side apprentice.

Jaesa threw herself into learning Sith teachings with all the fervor of a new convert, eager to shuck off the bonds of her austere and limiting previous life. Quinn believed her zeal was genuine, but found it a bit disconcerting even so.

Darth Baras was surprised by Morda’s new choice of apprentice, but seemed pleased with the outcome. Quinn suspected that he was impressed and maybe even a bit wary as well with Morda’s initiative. Ambition was a desired Sith trait, but it also signaled potential conflict among the Sith ranks. Quinn noted this development with interest.

He was impressed with Morda as well. She showed promise as a real catalyst for change within the Empire, and no one could doubt her ability or determination. Quinn found himself watching her a little more closely during battle. Of course he always paid careful attention to her medical needs during such times, but now he also noticed other things. The Force lent her gravity-defying grace and skill, and she was as light on her feet as any delicate dancer. Her lithe frame hid the true extent of her physical strength, but once one saw her in the midst of a rage-fueled attack, the real extent of her power was revealed. After a battle she nearly glowed with triumph, her red eyes bright and her skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. She was, Quinn realized with surprise, rather beautiful.

She began to occupy his thoughts in less appropriate ways. This was a source of consternation for him, and he tried to quell his distracted mind whenever it slipped into daydreams. His thoughts sometimes took on a rather alarming intensity, and Quinn was startled when he awoke one night from a vivid sexual dream, which left him aching and wanting. It didn’t help that she continued to flirt shamelessly with him, and he worried where this all would lead if left unchecked. He could not get involved with one of his superiors, especially not a Sith. This assignment could end at any time, or the demands of the mission could call for dangerous sacrifices. He did not want to be biased when it came to making important decisions.

Since their strange night spent in the cave on Tatooine, Quinn had not seen that vulnerable side of Morda again. In spite of his better judgment, he rather liked the untamed, bold Morda, although maybe not so much when she worked her alluring powers on him. He wanted to turn the tables on her someday though, fantasized about it, in fact. In his most secret visions she was his alone to tempt and pleasure, and she was nearly helpless with need for him. He was always rather embarrassed whenever he snapped out of these daydreams. He could not give in to these desires. How could he have such feelings for a Sith?


	3. Chapter 3

The Imperial space station was quiet at this hour. Night and day was all relative in space, but the officials in charge preferred to conduct business on a regular schedule, and most chose this shift for rest or sleep. Quinn had been monitoring Captain Veraska’s office for some time, and the man was in there now, alone. Quinn wanted to make the arrest with as little distractions as possible.

Captain Veraska was a Republic spy. Quinn knew him once as Agent Voloren, and it was through both luck and diligence that he had tracked the man down. Morda had allowed him to come here and oversee the capture, so he could finally finish the job he’d started ten years ago. Quinn was dismayed at how deeply entrenched the man’s cover was. For eight years Voloren had captained this space station, overseeing countless deployments of personnel and weaponry. If not for Moff Broysc’s ill-timed intervention, Quinn would have captured this spy years ago. Finally, he was getting a chance to make things right.

“It’s time.” Quinn nodded to the three Imperial troopers who’d been awaiting his order. His own anticipation was high. How long had had visualized this moment? He led the squadron down the hallway to Voloren’s door, then pulled his blaster and nodded to one of the soldiers. She inserted the spike into the door’s entry system and the locked disengaged, triggering the door to slide open.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” Agent Voloren stood up from the desk he’d been sitting behind and eyed Quinn and his entourage warily. Voloren was middle-aged and slight of build, but still hale and fit. His pleasant face and gentlemanly voice displayed genuine surprise. Voloren looked like the type of man who played huttball with his kids on days off and always bought his mother flowers for her birthday. The best spies were never the obvious ones. Quinn reminded himself that this man had probably cost the Empire thousands of lives.

“Cuff him,” Quinn said to one of the troopers. He gave the spy a smirk. “Welcome to the rest of your life, Agent Voloren.”

Voloren acted so fast that Quinn barely had time to aim his blaster. Voloren hit something under his desk and a thick spray of smoke jetted out from above the door where Quinn stood, enveloping the room in a white haze. Quinn held his breath instinctively, his training coming just when he needed it, and fired wildly at the spot where Voloren had just been standing. Voloren leapt over the desk and plunged through the smoke cloud, making for the door. Quinn bolted out of the room after him, sucking in a breath of air as soon as he was out of the range of the gas cloud.

“Head him off at the hangar.” Quinn gestured ahead, nodding to the troopers, who were stumbling through the smoke, startled but unharmed. They ran down the hallway to where it emptied out onto a high-ceilinged lobby. Quinn’s steps halted as he let the troopers run past him. Had Voloren really taken off down the hallway that fast? He listened and crept forward, peering into doorways as he passed. He heard a clattering from up ahead and broke into a run. Just around the corner, two of the troopers lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. There was no sign of the third. He took only the briefest moment to examine them. There were no injuries that he could see, and Quinn immediately suspected that some kind of neural inhibitor was the culprit. The troopers would be unconscious for ten minutes, and probably disoriented for at least as long again after that. Quinn backed away quickly.

He wasn’t quick enough. A stabbing pain erupted in his head and knew he was about to become Voloren’s next victim. He had not come so far only for the agent to escape! Through his blurred vision Quinn tried to scan the area, but saw no one. He stumbled to his knees, still gripping his blaster in one hand, while the other tried to hold back the floor from colliding with his face. His arm gave out and he fell, rolling onto his back. In a haze of delirious thought he watched colors coalesce before his eyes until they took on the vague shape of a man. Far above him, Voloren stood on a ceiling beam, pointing the stun gun at his head. Voleren’s form was gradually getting clearer, however, rather than more blurred. Quinn suspected that the gun couldn’t sustain such a prolonged burst of neural waves without time to regenerate. Quinn raised a shaky arm to point his blaster at Voloren’s chest.

Voloren swung down off the beam like a gymnast, and the bottom of his boots hurled through the air towards Quinn’s face. Quinn threw himself into a roll, and Voloren’s boots slammed into his shoulder instead. The floor cracked against Quinn’s head and Voloren took off running. Quinn climbed to his feet and hurried after him.

“Private!” he called into his comm unit, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. Where was the missing trooper? “Voloren is heading to the hangar. Are you there?”

The comm crackled and finally a hesitant voice responded. “Sir! I’m trying to arrange for back-up. I’ll be along right away.”

Well, this was just turning into a regular crisis, wasn’t it? Quinn would have to handle Voloren alone.

The hanger door was open, and while Quinn could not see Voloren, he could hear the man’s footsteps retreating inside. Quinn ran in and made for the control booth. He quickly shut down all the docking bay doors, sealing Voloren in. The agent was most likely trying to commandeer a small ship, but Quinn didn’t want to take any chances. With Voloren cornered, he merely had to wait for more troopers to arrive. Quinn left the booth and stood by the stairs, looking out across the hanger. The floor was wide open, with few places for a fugitive to hide. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned several stacks of supply crates, as well as checking underneath any of the spaceships. A small transport ship on the far side of the hangar would be Voloren’s most likely escape route, but there was plenty of open floor space all around it. It would be impossible to approach it from any angle without being seen. Quinn allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Voloren was a rat caught in a trap. There was no place for him to go.

A noise called Quinn’s attention to the ceiling. Once again, Voloren had chosen a clever hiding place. He was scurrying now along the network of platforms and bridges that criss-crossed the underside of the roof. Quinn followed the direction of Voloren’s progress and realized that he was aiming to cross all the way to the other side of the hanger, where he could likely drop down on a cable and reach the ship from above.

Quinn hurried back into the control booth and began scanning through the data terminals, looking for a way to block Voloren’s flight clearance codes. He found them registered under his cover identity as Captain Veraska, but discovered that he did not have the authorization to override them. He had gotten approval to infiltrate the man’s personal office, but this had been overlooked. Frustration tied a knot in his chest. He was going to have to chase after Agent Voloren and block him from getting to the ship.

He grabbed the comm and practically growled into it. “I need Captain Veraska’s flight clearance revoked!”

“On it,” a voice responded.

Quinn sped out the door and stopped to assess his next move. A ladder just off the control platform led up -- far, far up – to the bridges above. It was not going to be a climb for the faint hearted. Quinn breached the railing and stepped onto the lowest rung of the ladder. He would do whatever it took to see this mission through.

The bridges were more rickety than he had been expecting, and they jarred and bounced noticeably as he ran across them. The metal surface was corrugated for sure footing at least, so he ran full tilt, trying to close the gap between him and the agent, who was well out over the middle of the hanger by now. He came to a gap where one bridge platform met the next and he hesitated briefly, seeing the top of a large transport ship far below him. No one would survive a fall from this height. He jumped.

The bridge clanged loudly under his weight when he hit the other side and Agent Voloren spun to check behind him. Quinn was growing winded but he increased his pace. He was slowly gaining.

Voleran began zigzagging, climbing the side rails to hop from bridge to bridge, and even at one point sidling onto a rafter to slide across to even farther bridge. Quinn tried to recreate Voloren’s footsteps, hesitating at the spot where Voloren had left the safety of the bridge. His feet edged out onto a structural beam and he shuffled a short ways across it. He focused on his destination, looking straight ahead. He had to move slower than he would like, but in this case, caution was wiser than speed. Once he reached the rafter support, he clung to it to catch his breath.

Voloren had vanished.

Quinn whirled about, stretching as far as he dared while clinging to the beam to look around him. Had Voloren rappelled down to the floor? Side-stepped onto another bridge? Panic beat in his chest. He would not accept failure, especially when he was this close.

He slid across the other side of the rafter, unwilling to stay in any precarious perch for long. Once back onto the relative safety of one of the bridges, he stopped to look again.

A hand gripped his ankle and tugged hard. Quinn’s lost his footing and fell onto the bridge, slamming his chin into one of the metal bumps along the floor. The hand was pulling him slowly over the edge. He rolled and pointed his blaster.

Voloren was hanging on the underside of the bridge like some wily monkey-lizard. Voloren swung up and under the railing, grabbing Quinn by the back of his shirt and pressing him against the floor, pinning Quinn under his weight. At that moment Quinn was aware of nothing else but the tussle of arms and legs as Voloren’s fingers clawed madly for a handhold on his blaster. Hand-to-hand fighting wasn’t Quinn’s strength, but his most basic self-preservation instincts broke to the surface along with a deep, heated anger, and he wrestled back with everything he had. He tried to reach the second weapon at his belt with his other hand, but quickly realized that he needed all the force he could muster to keep Voloren at bay. Voloren’s skill was the greater, and he was a man driven to desperation. The strength in Quinn’s arm was failing, and the blaster began to slip as Voloren pried it from his grasp. There was no way to win this fight with brawn, Quinn realized. It was only a matter of time before Voloren got a hold of the blaster.

Voloren was on top of him, and Quinn had ended up again with his face pressed against the floor. He drew one leg up underneath him and found some leverage, just enough to lift his torso and pull himself forward, tucking his arm, and the blaster, against his chest underneath him. Voloren scrabbled at his arm, then pushed at his shoulder trying to roll him over, but Quinn used his back like shield and brought his other arm in towards his chest as well. He swapped the blaster to the other hand and then hurled his arm outward, letting go of the blaster. It flew out over the edge of the bridge, where a long silence followed before it finally hit to the ground far below.

“There they are! Up there!” a voice called. The back-up squad had arrived. Quinn spotted them scurrying across the hangar floor.

Voloren bared his teeth. “Damn you!” He sprinted to his feet and took off running down the platform.

Quinn stood up, dazed for a moment. Voloren was getting away again. Quinn pulled his scattergun, but the weapon was only useful at close range, and Voloren was already too far away. He might as well be weaponless. No, he realized, that wasn’t quite accurate. He looked at his wrist darts, which were usually filled with kolto. He spun the chamber and saw what he needed. Two darts would be enough if his aim were true. He threw out his arm and shot two paralyzer darts at Voloren’s legs. He hoped the man wasn’t too far away for the darts to find their mark.

Voloren stumbled drunkenly, grabbed at the rails, and then bumbled to the floor. He squirmed briefly before realizing the futility of the situation. He stilled, clinging to the railing just enough to raise his upper body to watch as Quinn began the slow, deliberate walk toward him.

“Take him out!” a voice yelled from below.

“Hold your fire!” Quinn called out. “We can bring him in alive.” One of the troopers headed for the nearest ladder and began to climb.

Quinn stopped, looking down the barrel of his scattergun at Agent Voloran. It thrilled him to see the agent helpless and defeated like this, and gave him an even greater pleasure to know that he’d been the instrument of the man’s downfall.

“Your capture has been too long in coming,” Quinn said. “Seeing you now is even more satisfying than I thought it would be.”

Voloren was winded and still heaving for breath. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that. Who are you?”

Quinn gave him his name and rank.

“Stars,” Voloren said. He laughed and then shook his head. “Damn, you are persistent, aren’t you? It’s been a long time. You had a designation on the code circuit once, you know. We called you ‘Boots.’ You know why?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Short for ‘Boot-licker.’”

“Fascinating story. I’m sure you’ll tell many more to the interrogation droids.”

“You had one moment of true courage, though, didn’t you? I heard the story when I joined the Imperial ranks.”

Voloren waited, probably hoping for a reaction, but Quinn had already restored himself to a proper emotionless demeanor. When Voloren didn’t get a reaction, he continued anyway.

“Druckenwell,” he said. “You took it upon yourself to make sure the fleet didn’t get redirected at that crucial moment. It was a glorious victory for you and the Empire.” He paused, his eyes meeting Quinn’s. “But then they crushed you.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything except you enjoying hearing yourself talk.”

“Your talents are wasted here. Still a lieutenant after all these years? Someone like you would have recognition and respect in the Republic. We could give you a place of distinction there; give you the accolades you deserve.”

“You insult me and then you ask me to join you? You must think I’m mad or stupid. I would rather die than become a turn-coat like you.”

Voloren eyed him in silence. “Yes,” he said finally. “I can see that now. I’m sorry to hear to it. It’s a loss for both of us.”

“Lieutenant!” A soldier was coming up along the platform behind him. “We can take him into custody now and lead--”

Quinn caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around just in time to see Agent Voloren push himself into a roll. Quinn threw out an arm to stop him, but it was too late. Voloren dropped off the side of the bridge. Quinn stared at the falling body, aghast but not entirely surprised. A captured spy would have been the culmination of his victory today.

There was a startled cry from below seconds before Voloren hit the ground, and Quinn looked away before witnessing the impact. Far below, a soldier started retching.

“Damn it,” Quinn muttered. He sighed and holstered the scattergun. What was done was done. He had seen the end of Agent Voloren, and that was the most important thing. Working for Morda was helping to rekindle his career already. That was also a major victory and one that he wouldn’t soon forget.

00o00

Morda heard the swish and click of the ship’s airlock door, signaling Quinn’s return. She opened the door to her room just in time to see Quinn step into the medbay across the hall. Morda slipped out of her room on silent feet and leaned against the door frame of the med bay.

Quinn was a black shadow silhouetted in the faint blue light of the kolto tank behind him. The sharply drawn lines of his shoulders and stiff collar contrasted with that one runaway wisp of hair that he could never tame. He removed his blaster and scattergun from his belt and set them quietly on a nearby desk. Then he looked up. His eyes scanned down the length of her body before quickly looking away, no doubt noting that she was wearing a thin, short nightgown and little else.

“I apologize if I disrupted your sleep, my lord.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Morda watched as he emptied a small satchel he’d been carrying, putting away the tools of his recent venture: extra ammo, electrobinoculars, stun cuffs, and variously sized medpacks. Quinn’s movements were always deliberate, never wasted, and above all efficient. He kept the med bay meticulously clean, and it had never been more organized than it was now that Quinn was on the crew. Quinn’s uniforms were always perfectly pressed, his hair combed, his pants pleated and wrinkle free. Tonight, however, there was a smudge of dust across his shoulder, and a small rip along the front of his uniform. Morda wondered what had transpired during this recent mission.

Morda backed out of the doorway to let Quinn pass, and then followed him into the crew quarters. “You were successful, I presume?”

Quinn unhooked his holster and hung it on a peg. “Yes, my lord. The spy is dead.”

He glanced her way, and then casually turned his back to her. He lifted off his shirt and folded it onto a nearby chair, then picked out a new one from a wardrobe nearby. Quinn’s closet was like a small army of military clones, always standing at attention, awaiting orders. He slid the clean shirt over his head and straightened it, carefully adjusting the collar into place. Morda watched his fingers work the buttons, his motions deft and automatic; the rituals of a man who had worn this same shirt a thousand times.

Quinn shaved every morning, yet by evening his cheeks were always darkened with a hint of stubble, and tonight, being as late as it was, it was more noticeable than usual. Morda found human facial hair rather intriguing. She imagined its roughness against the pads of her fingertips, or the feel of it brushing against her neck, behind her ear…or between her thighs. Watching him now was reminding her of why she had stayed up to see him when he returned.

She followed him out onto the bridge. When he sat and began preparing the ship for launch, she stretched out on the chair next to him.

“Excellent work tonight, Quinn. Feels good, doesn’t it?” She watched his face, impassive and calm, as he ignited the engines and maneuvered the ship out of the hanger bay. His face gave away nothing, but his body language said otherwise. He looked energized, Morda noticed, his movements alert and precise, his senses no doubt still heightened from the recent battle. “I know the feeling,” Morda continued. She slid her legs up onto the ship’s navigation console and crossed her ankles. “Hunting such elusive prey, moving in for the kill, knowing your mark is cornered…the satisfaction of the conquest.”

“I am grateful for the opportunity to finish what I started so long ago.”

This capture must have meant a great deal to Quinn, yet here he was, hiding all pride and excitement behind a wall of stoicism. Was he trying to keep her at arm’s length?

“I will be sure to put a commendation in your report.” Morda watched him surreptitiously as he glanced her way, his eyes following the line of her bare legs, ending at the hemline of her gown which had risen to the very apex of her hips.

Morda could read most men easily, and she’d rarely been refused when she had set her sights on taking one to her bed. Quinn was a challenge and was proving to be far more reticent than Morda had originally predicted. Why did she bother? He was stuffy, boring, too proper, needlessly strict, and unimaginative. No, she decided, not unimaginative, not that. The careful planning and forethought he put into his tasks implied a fertile mind that was capable of testing every possibility and outcome. That could be put to use in many ways. Just being near him was like standing next to a powerful dam, surging with barely contained energy and potential. She wanted to be the one to break the first crack in it. She wanted to see what would be released when all that diligently managed self-control was breached. She had found the secret kernel of doubt in Jaesa, her promising new apprentice, and see what had blossomed from that? A vibrant dark power, pure and true and still unfurling. Quinn was not force sensitive, sadly, but there was more to be found in him than just a commitment to duty. She wanted to see him undone, lost to the spontaneous power of rage and passion and lust. Could it be done?

Morda suspected that Quinn’s reluctance was a well-constructed facade. Such caution and predictability was a sign of fear. Fear was a powerful weapon, but not if it became a filter through which every other emotion was processed. Morda wondered what it would take to reach the man.

“What do you do for fun, Quinn?”

Quinn looked up from the controls and hesitated. “For fun, my lord?”

“Yes, you know, ‘fun.’ Things that people do when they are not working?”

“I try to keep busy, my lord. I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“Everyone needs something to help them unwind.”

“Well, I…I read sometimes.”

“Like what? And don’t say, ‘reports.’”

He was silent.

Morda rubbed her forehead. “This is worse than I thought. There must be something that you enjoy, something that excites you?”

Quinn stared ahead through the ship’s portal into space. “I prefer to not mix business with pleasure, my lord.”

“You have pleasures, then?”

“My lord, it is getting late. I will get us back on course again and take care of the navigation tonight.”

He was trying to get rid of her. It was looking like she would have to spend another frustrated night alone. 

“It’s been a long shift for you, Quinn. You’ve been on duty for…how long now?”

“It’s been eleven hours and forty-five minutes, my lord.”

“Right.” Of course he would have that calculated right down to the minute, just as he analyzed everything else. “I declare your shift to be over. The ship won’t crash without you at the helm, Quinn. That’s what autopilot is for.”

“Very well, my lord.” Quinn rose and gave her a short bow. “Good night.”

“Good night Quinn.”

Morda sat alone for a time, watching the endless stars. Every man had sexual needs. Quinn could be no different. What went on in that head of his? Perhaps she needed to be even more direct. She had a thought of showing up outside his door with a carefully detailed report on her sexual requirements, including diagrams, schedules and explicit line by line instructions. She burst out laughing. She was half-tempted to share the idea with Vette.

00o00

“My lord, you need to do something about the slave.”

Morda set down her fork and looked up. Quinn was standing in the mess room doorway, his expression closed and unreadable, yet Morda could clearly see that he was nearly rigid with indignation.

“Come in, Lieutenant,” Morda said. She took another bite from her plate and gestured for Quinn to sit opposite her at the table. He came and stood by the chair but made no move to use it. His blue eyes were bright with a spark the likes of which Morda had not yet seen in him. He looked angry. He looked alive. It excited her to see it. “You are talking about Vette, I presume?”

“You need to tell her to stop bothering me when I’m working. Her constant chatter is a terrible annoyance.”

“Really?” Morda gave him her most calm and stately smile. In truth, Vette had quite a spirited streak in her, Morda knew, but she found it rather amusing and was growing to be fond of the girl in spite of it. Quinn was so stuffy and proper that it wasn’t any surprise that he had been butting heads with Vette. “She’s quite the feisty one, isn’t she?”

“Will you not discipline her?”

“What did she say that upset you so much?”

“She must have overheard me mention Moff Broysc at some point, now that we have been discussing it lately, and she has been inserting his name randomly into conversations just to distract me. She says she won’t stop until I tell her why I hate the man.”

“Hate,” Morda said, savoring the word with a smile. “That’s a strong word, Quinn.”

“My lord…I…perhaps it is. I--”

Morda held up a hand and stood from the table. “No, I like it. You’d be so much more attractive if you let your vindictive side show.” She grinned at him. “You cripple yourself by denying your anger.” Morda put aside her plate and came around the table to face Quinn.

“Such strong emotions have no place among logic and discipline, my lord.”

“Quite the contrary. Passion makes you stronger. Passion of all kinds.” She took a step forward. “I can show you.”

Quinn blinked at her, and Morda sensed that he clearly wanted to restore some distance between them but was holding his ground, perhaps for fear of insulting her. “My lord, this conversation is veering outside the spectrum of acceptable military communication.”

“It’s called flirting, Quinn. Look into it.” Morda walked away, smiling and brushing his shoulder as she passed. He was resisting, but Morda could feel his indecision through the Force. She turned at the doorway. “I will talk to Vette for you.”

He nodded his head. “Thank you, my lord.”

00o00

“Congratulations, _Captain_ ,” Morda said, poking her head into the medbay. Quinn was sitting at a desk, going over some reports. Morda had allowed him to take over the medbay as an office, since the ship wasn’t large enough for an actual one. He looked up, his face blank with confusion before understanding came.

He jumped to his feet. “My lord! Thank you.” For the first time in ten years, Quinn had been given a true promotion. Morda had gladly given her approval to make the appointment official.

“You earned it, Quinn. I only pushed it through.”

He nodded, giving the barest hint of a smile before sitting down again to resume his work. Did that man ever celebrate anything? Morda decided that she would make good on her suggestion to take him to a cantina sometime.

“You might as well make your bed in here, for all the time you spend in this room, Quinn.”

He didn’t look up as his finger tapped quickly through some documents on his datapad.

“I may do just that, my lord.”

Morda let out a laugh. “Good. Then Vette can move out of my room and back into the crew quarters, freeing up my room for nightly visitors.”

Quinn’s fingers paused on the datapad for the shortest second, then began typing again. _By the force that man can be obtuse!_ Morda waited to see if any other reaction would be forthcoming. Finally Quinn spoke.

“My lord…are you _propositioning_ me?”

“No, I’m asking you to come tell me bedtime stories. Of course, Quinn. I’m trying to get you in my bed. Can I be any more obvious?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What is it then? Performance issues?”

“No! I mean, that's not it, my lord.” Quinn set down the datapad and was staring at the desk in front of him, his face coloring slightly.

“Then what is it? Do you find me attractive? Or maybe women aren’t to your taste?”

Quinn’s hands dropped to his lap and he took a breath. “My lord, I assure you, you are a wholly remarkable and unique woman.”

“That’s not the same thing as attractive, Quinn.”

“I am…drawn to you,” Quinn said, the barest shake now entering his voice, “make no mistake.”

“You hide it well then.”

Quinn sprang up from the chair, slapping his hands on the desk. His chair tipped backwards and he spun around to catch it, righting it and stepping aside to return it to its place under the desk.

“My lord,” he said, “What do you want from me? You want me to tell you how much I think of you in my spare moments, how you enter my dreams at night? How you try my patience and my professionalism? How just being near you is a terrible distraction? Because it is all of those things.”

“I’ve left you tossing and turning in your bunk at night, have I?”

He sighed. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Why do you fight it so?” Morda stepped fully into the room and began to circle around Quinn, touching his shoulder and running her hand across his back. “You could give in to your feelings and be rid of this self-imposed torment.”

“Any personal involvement between us could cloud judgment and compromise your campaigns. I’m sorry if I did not make that clearer from the very beginning.”

Morda came around and faced him. “I like taking risks.” She grabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him in for a kiss. He was too startled to object. His upper lip was scratchy but his lips were soft, a contrast that Morda found wonderful and slightly arousing. She broke away, slowly releasing the front of his shirt from her fist. She was assailed unexpectedly by his thoughts then, which came to her in a series of rapid visions. She had not reached for them, nor tried to pry, yet they slipped through like a gush of water escaping from a spout, intense and startling, before the flow cut off and vanished. Captain Quinn, normally so guarded, had a vivid imagination, and Morda saw herself caught in his embrace, felt the twining of her limbs with his in a hot, naked tumble, and heard the sound of her own voice begging for release.

“This--my lord,” Quinn stammered. “This should not continue. It’s improper.” He was nearly as a red as a Pureblood, solely from the boldness of the kiss. Morda wondered how he would react if he knew that she had seen a glimpse of his inner fantasies.

“The impropriety is what makes it so exciting. I know you find it so too, Quinn.”

“My lord, I—you do not know my desires.”

Morda stepped close to him, and whispered into his ear. “Oh, but I _do_.”

“Please, my lord.” His voice was hushed now, barely audible. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not? Are you afraid you will give in?” She pressed her body against his side. He smelled of some kind of clean, minty soap. “I know you want me, Quinn. On this cot, on the table, on your desk. You want to see me laid out and vulnerable, you want to hear me beg, you want to be in control. I understand. I can give you that.”

Quinn sucked in a breath and touched his hand to his forehead. Morda stepped back. “Think about it, Captain,” she said. “I’m offering myself to you. You just say the word.” She turned and started through the door.

He reached for her, pulling her towards him, his hand tight across the small of her back. He kissed her fiercely and abruptly, but then backed away nearly as soon as it had begun. _How he fights it even still!_ Morda gave him a knowing smile. He was reining himself in with considerable difficulty. Morda took a few steps backwards, willing him to come to her.

“Unleash your desire,” she said softly.

“And if I do?” he answered. His voice sounded strained and breathless. “If I take you now, in every way that I long to do, what then?”

“It will set you free,” Morda urged. Quinn was coming closer, taking halting steps, pausing, clearly wrestling with himself. The look in his eyes was hungry and full of insatiate desire. Yes, Morda spoke silently, not caring anymore if she inadvertently touched his mind or not. Come to me.

“I...I cannot.” He turned his back to her, and went to lean against the far wall, where he rested his head in the crook of his arm.

“Leave me alone now, please,” he said. “I need to get back to my duties.”

Morda stared at him, too surprised to speak. Quinn had a stubborn streak stronger than any man she’d ever met. Was she asking the impossible?

“Very well,” she said. She couldn’t hide the sharp note of regret in her voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Morda was practicing combat forms in the cargo area of the ship when Quinn appeared.

“My lord…” His voice was pitched cautiously. Morda recognized the tone as one he used when he was about to disagree with her over something, or when he was worried. She stopped and grabbed a towel to wipe her forehead.

“What is it, Captain?” She knew she sounded a bit cross, but it couldn’t be helped. Many force-blinds were afraid to express differing opinions around the Sith, and that was understandable, she supposed. However, she would much rather those who served her spoke their minds and were plain about it. It wasn’t her job to decipher nuances and subtext when all that could be easily avoided if people just said what they really meant. Worse yet was when she suspected that underlings were trying to manipulate her with insincere flattery. And she couldn’t tolerate whining. In this case, she suspected that Quinn was about to make a complaint, perhaps about Vette again.

“I request a reassignment.” Quinn stood now with his hands clasped behind his back and a look of determination on his face. It was not like him to act hastily, so he obviously had thought this through. It came as an utter surprise to Morda, however.

“Why ever in the galaxy would I want that?” This was highly inconvenient. Now she would be without a pilot and field medic again. “Is this about that kiss the other night?”

Quinn colored slightly. “It…well, that and other things, yes. My lord, I am compromised. I cannot, for your sake or the sake of the crew, stay on any longer.”

Morda stared at him. He looked genuinely distressed. Causing him anguish had never been the intention when she had decided to pursue him. Luring him out, freeing him from his own stubbornness, it was a valuable goal, but the game was no fun now. Perhaps the stakes were higher than she had realized. Now she would lose a valued crew member over this. She frowned, then quickly tried to hide her disappointment.

“If that is what you really want, Quinn, I will grant it.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, my lord. I will write up the paperwork right away and present it to you tomorrow.”

Morda nodded. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Quinn gave her a crisp bow and retreated.

00o00

Everything was going wrong. Taris was a dreary planet, where mournful birds cried from the treetops, and pools of toxic waste had replaced what had once been lakes. Morda stepped in an outrageously deep puddle and now her foot was slimy and cold with muck. She had four war generals to track down and kill, and some annoying Sith apprentice kept butting into her business, with pathetic attempts to compete with her, ruining her objectives. Quinn was leaving her…wait, had she actually been _dumped_? She stomped down the muddy pathway. She hated this place. What was that smell?

She stopped abruptly, just as she was about to stumble into another puddle. Vette smacked into her from behind.

“Watch where you’re going!” Morda spun around, scowling at Vette. “You have eyes on the front of your head, don’t you?”

“Touchy, touchy. Who put the flutterplume up your butt?”

Vette had quite the mouth on her, for a slave. Morda wondered sometimes if she was a bit too lenient, and was about to reprimand the girl, but then a laugh burst out of her instead. “A _what_ up my butt?”

Vette grinned. “See? You’re in a better mood already.”

Morda muttered, “Like one of those would fit...” and started down the path again towards the barracks.

Baras had instructed Morda to meet with a Moff Hurden, and once inside the building she found him standing in the command center doling out orders. She had him fill her in on all the latest intel available on the generals she needed to eliminate. Then the moff called over one of the soldiers under his command to meet with her.

Lieutenant Pierce was broad shouldered and massive, his bulk easily towering over both her and the moff. Morda could tell that he was no green recruit. He struck her as confident, maybe even cocky, but Morda had no doubt that he had earned the right to brag. A map of scars criss-crossed one side of his face, and he wore his armor like he had been born in it. He was neither fawning nor timid in her presence, like many soldiers so often were, and he nodded to her in the way of one warrior to another. Morda decided that she liked him immediately.

She found his speech to be blunt and sparing, and he occasionally dropped some colorful slang into his descriptions. When she pressed him for details on the mission at hand, he responded readily, and with suggestions that clearly showed that he knew the realities of battle planning. The moff left them alone with a word to Pierce on how he should accommodate her with whatever she needed.

“So, Pierce,” Morda said, looking him in the eye, “are you ready to accommodate me?” She smiled. “It can be very rewarding.”

“Sounds good,” he said. He eyes scanned over her unflinchingly and with obvious interest.

“Wonderful. I look forward to working with you.” Morda turned just in time to catch Vette rolling her eyes, but it barely seemed worth noting. Maybe today would be salvageable after all.

When Morda got back to the ship, Quinn was waiting for her. He was collected and formal as always, but his undercurrent of nervous energy was more noticeable now in contrast to Lieutenant Pierce’s calm assuredness. Morda had almost forgotten that she needed to give official authorization to Quinn’s transfer request. It put a pall over her mood.

“Hand it over,” she said.

“My lord,” Quinn began, “I have had a change of thought. I was hasty in my judgment yesterday and I believe that my taking service elsewhere now would be a mistake. I would like to stay in your service, if you will allow it.”

Morda looked him over, trying to assess his state of mind. She couldn’t decipher what had brought on this sudden reversal. “What’s going on, Quinn?”

“I feel that both our interests are better served by us continuing to work together.”

Ah, Morda thought. So that was it. “I’m good for your career, am I?”

Quinn blushed and looked away quickly. “You have given me opportunities I would not have gotten elsewhere, it is true. I’d be an idiot to throw that away. But moreover, my lord, there is no reason for me to deny you my service. I can better serve you, and the Empire, here under your charge.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, I’d be glad to see you stay.”

Quinn’s shoulders noticeably relaxed. “Thank you, my lord.” He paused. “Although, there is one thing I would like to add, if I may be so bold.”

“Yes?”

“I must request that our relationship remain at a professional level. It--”

“Fine,” Morda said. She waved a hand to stop him from elaborating further.

“Well…that’s…that’s settled then. I appreciate your understanding.”

Quinn left the room and Morda stared at the open doorway for a moment longer. She was glad, most certainly so, to have him back. So maybe he wasn’t turning out to be beddable material. But she had other options, didn’t she? She imagined Pierce’s oversized, calloused hands roving over her body and smiled. Yes, she had other options.

00o00

Things had most definitely changed between him and Morda. Quinn was surprised, somewhat relieved, and strangely disappointed. He was ashamed of the last part. Surely he had more pride than to go seeking after the lascivious attentions of an overly bold Sith. Having relations with a mission partner was always a bad idea and nothing good ever came of it. He had seen the havoc such things caused too many times to count, and took pride in keeping to a higher standard of discipline. It was preferable to draw a sharp dividing line between work relationships and personal ones.

Many soldiers dealt with this problem by satisfying their physical needs separately. This was, he assumed, what Morda was after. He’d been told often enough that he was attractive, even taken less seriously because of it on occasion. He was a plaything to Morda, he reminded himself, and nothing more, sure to be discarded as soon as she had had her fill. In fact, isn’t that exactly what had happened already?

Quinn rarely indulged in casual sexual encounters. He was aware that his fellow officers shared humor at his expense over this, sometimes questioning his prowess or skill. But there was something they didn’t understand. It took diligence to know and to adhere to one’s personal limits, and Quinn knew his. He gave his all to every task he took on, and he doubted he was even capable of being satisfied with any lesser effort. Things that held little interest to him barely registered as worth his time or thought, yet the opposite was true when he found something that captured his attention. His thoroughness (so he’d been told) sometimes bordered on obsession, and he dedicated himself, heart and body and mind, to whatever it was that he had chosen as his focus. Likewise, he had found relationships to be a terrible burden. How could he share such intimacies of the body without his heart following soon after? He’d pined after a fellow soldier once already, and her eventual rejection had devastated him, consuming his thoughts for months afterward. He had relived every torturous moment, trying to analyze where things went wrong, and had admonished himself over his faults or misjudgments. Those were the mistakes of the young and inexperienced. He knew better now.

He needed to focus single-mindedly on the task at hand and not let his mind wander to such unproductive thoughts of Morda. He had plenty of work to keep him occupied, and that could be its own source of comfort.

Work did not prove to be the escape that he had anticipated. Moff Hurden had assigned a soldier to assist Morda while on Taris, but this Lieutenant Pierce was difficult to work with, lacking in forethought or refinement of any kind. He was a brute of a man, the kind that was good for front line fodder and little else, but Morda had taken a shine to him, inexplicably. Pierce preferred to blunder headlong into battle, ignoring or even disparaging Quinn’s well thought-out advice, and Morda seemed to be following his lead. Worse yet, Pierce showed a complete disregard for rules and proper procedures. Quinn was left to cover up his indiscretions after the fact, and had once even been forced to provide false information on a report in order to not cause suspicion. It grated on him, yet Morda was either oblivious or condoning, so he had no recourse but to hold his tongue.

They were nearing the end of their mission on Taris. Lord Morda had plans to assault the bunker of General Faraire, yet he was more heavily guarded than any enemy they’d yet faced, and careful coordination of their efforts would be needed to break through the defenses protecting him. Quinn had considered the strengths of every member in their party, and had drawn up customized battle plans for each of them. They would need to simultaneously attack the base’s power station, spaceport, and the army surrounding the base in order to reach the General. Quinn stayed up late preparing a report detailing each critical juncture of the plan and presented it at a meeting the following morning. Jaesa would travel with Morda, taking on the troops guarding the General, while Pierce would block access into and out of the nearby spaceport, and Vette would rig explosives around the base’s power station. He would stay back at the Imperial base to be a liaison between them.

Pierce interjected before he’d even gotten to the end of the report.

“I have the most experience infiltrating such highly guarded targets, m’lord. I should go with you.”

Morda did not even reprimand him for his interruption, she merely nodded. “Of course. I will take Pierce with me to the base. Jaesa, you will go to the spaceport.”

“My lord,” Quinn said. “I do not recommend this course of action.”

Pierce turned to Quinn with a curl of his lip. “Don’t worry Captain. The real soldiers have got this one.”

Vette gave Quinn a sympathetic look – which only made matters worse – as Morda left and the others trailed behind her.

As he had predicted, there were complications. Morda and Pierce barely made it through the General’s defensive line alive. Quinn was certain that Jaesa would have been able to sway the loyalties of the General’s paid mercenaries, using her unique power in the Force to take them out of the equation, leaving fewer soldiers for Morda to face. Afterwards, as he reported to Morda over the holocom, he dared to point out how her decision to follow Pierce’s advice, and not his, had nearly cost them the victory. He had expected her anger, maybe even her contempt, but instead she merely shrugged at him.

“People make mistakes, Quinn.” Then she had cut the call.

Quinn didn’t think the day could have gotten any worse, until it did. He returned to the ship that evening to find Pierce sitting in the common area. He was engaged in regaling an animated tale to Morda, no doubt featuring himself as the hero.

“Captain Quinn.” Morda spotted him and rose. She gestured to Pierce sitting at her side. “Lieutenant Pierce will be joining our crew. I’m sure we’ll all find him a great boon.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Quinn muttered. He nodded to Pierce –- no one could say that he wasn’t polite -- and gave an excuse to make a quick exit.

Later that evening, Vette stopped him in the hallway.

“Hey.” She planted her feet on the floor, blocking his further progress down the hall.

“What do you want, Vette?”

“You know, you don’t have to be oh soooo friendly all the time.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but then leaned in close, glancing about quickly before whispering, “What do you think of Lieutenant Pierce?”

“I try not to think about him actually.”

“I hear he blackmailed Moff Hurdenn in order to ditch his posting on Taris. I wonder what dirt he dug up on him?”

“I don’t know and I doubt it’s any of your business either.”

“Hmm, well, I just thought you might like to be a part of the talk going around, you know, now that we have something to talk about other than you.” She grinned.

“You should know by now that gossip doesn’t interest me. I advise you to pay more attention to your duties and less to the affairs of others.” He pushed past her.

Later, he lay on his cot, watching the blue flickering lights from the kolto tank play across the ceiling. He did not doubt Pierce’s loyalty. But Vette’s story just added another layer to the lack of scruples that the Lieutenant had displayed. He didn’t like it.

At his age, he should be well beyond caring whether or not others gossiped about him. Yet, he found himself ruminating over Vette’s comment about him being a source of talk on the ship. Most likely she was just trying to get his hackles up. It was a talent of hers. Still, he found himself wondering what was being said about him and to whom. It was a good thing that he had not slept with Morda, he decided. He imagined her, Vette and Jaesa sitting around in their pajamas comparing him with Pierce and giggling about the size differences between them. Ridiculous. He needed to stop this line of thinking right now, because it was going nowhere. He rolled over and tried to sleep.

00o00

Quinn could not disguise his contempt for the Lieutenant, and Pierce made no effort to be friendly with him either. After only six days on the ship together, the tension between them hummed like a live wire. At night, Quinn could hear Morda laughing from her bedroom across the hall, and Pierce’s answering rumble. Eventually he turned on the Kolto tank so that’s its gentle gurgling hum blocked out any other unwelcome sounds.

The following morning, Pierce entered the kitchen as Quinn was making a cup of caf. Everywhere he turned, Pierce’s bulky presence was in his way, blocking a cabinet, closing the fridge just as he was about to open it, taking the last clean mug. Quinn said nothing, feeling that any attempts at conversation would surely fail.

As Quinn sat down at the table, Pierce leaned against a nearby counter, slurping from his cup and eyeing him with blatant distaste. A sneer was forming on his face.

“So, Captain, were you frakking Lord Morda before I came along?”

Quinn nearly choked on his drink. He set his cup down carefully, and wiped the small spill from the table.

“I will not grace such crudeness with a reply.”

Pierce chuckled. “No matter.” His scarred face crinkled under another ghastly grin. “She’s got herself a real man now anyway.”

Quinn was on his feet in a moment, with his blaster in hand and leveled at Pierce’s broad chest. Pierce’s mug landed on the counter with a thunk and he held his hands out.

“Hey, hey. Don’t want any trouble.”

“You will show respect for your commanding officer, is that clear? Or I’ll make your life a misery. You’ll be back on Taris, or somewhere even worse, at my say so.”

“Fine,” Pierce grumbled. “Just got a raunchy sense of humor is all.”

“What’s this?” Morda had appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on? Pierce? Quinn?” She stared them both down, her red eyes flashing.

Quinn holstered his blaster. “All is well, my lord,” he said, his eyes never leaving Pierce’s face. “The lieutenant and I were just coming to an understanding.”

Pierce nodded to Morda and squeezed out the door.

“I apologize, my lord,” Quinn said. “I let him goad me into a temper.”

“Yes,” she said, and the smile that touched her lips was coy. “I felt it. I trust your judgment, Captain. I will have a little chat with Pierce about the chain of command around here.”

Quinn’s heart was finally starting to slow to a normal speed. “Thank you, my lord. I am grateful for your support.”

She turned and her bright eyes met his. “You’ll always have it, Quinn.”

He felt himself flushing. He nodded and busied himself with his cup, until he was alone once more. Maybe she did still value his service after all.

00o00

Morda was sitting on the bridge when she caught the unmistakable crackle of anger coming from another part of the ship. Her apprentice Jaesa was a fountain on unrestrained passions now that she had set them loose, but this anger had a different feel to it. It was not Jaesa. It was tight and refined and sharp like the pulse of a whip. It was gripping, seductive even, and Morda rose to investigate. She reached the door and knew. _Quinn_. Excitement built in her chest. She wanted to see this.

Quinn was staring down the barrel of his blaster at Pierce. Their clash in personalities had become obvious after barely a day on the ship together, but Morda was curious as to what Pierce had done to have incited such a strong reaction in Quinn. Annoyance drifted off of Pierce, but Quinn was surrounded by a torrent of indignation and disgust. His color was high, the blood drumming under his skin, sending out waves of power that Morda could feel through the Force. His anger touched her like a heady caress, sparking a burst of excitement inside her. _I’m still attracted to him_ , she thought.

After the situation was diffused, she promised him she would discuss the matter with Pierce.

Pierce. She had found working with him these last few weeks to be rather refreshing. He wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to get things done. He also had no qualms about accepting her nightly invitations. That first night she had been plagued by a dreadful itch that had gone so long unscratched, that she had been a bit over eager. Pierce was a big man, but Morda gathered Force power in her hands and threw it outwards, knocking him back onto her bed and pinning him there. He had laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that tickled that annoying itch into a frenzy. “You’re the boss,” he said, and his craggy voice vibrated down her spine in a delicious spiral.

To her surprise, Pierce had not been intimidated or put off by her power. In fact, he seemed to enjoy letting her take the lead. His face, normally so severe and hard, had broken into a sexy grin when she had pushed him onto the bed and mounted him for a hard and frantic ride. What he lacked in technique, he made up for in exuberance and stamina. After a short rest, she toppled him down again among the pillows, and he was just as ready for another go as she was. “Plenty more where that came from babe,” he told her with a grin.

She wondered now how he would react to being reprimanded. Morda entered the crew quarters and closed the door behind her. Pierce was seated on one of the bunks, polishing the barrel of a blaster. He stood immediately, his broad shoulders blocking one of the ceiling lights and casting a wide shadow across the floor. He nodded respectfully and waited for her to speak.

Morda didn’t bother with pleasantries. They were just a waste of time. “Do you have a problem with Captain Quinn?”

Pierce narrowed his eyes. “Little pussy-footed prick pulled a gun on me.”

Morda hardened her voice. “You were out of line.” 

“Sorry, m’lord. Quinn and I don’t see to eye to eye on things. Can’t do a thing without his approval. Didn’t know the captain ran things around here. Rather take my orders direct.”

“Quinn handles the details, but you answer to me.”

“Got it. Just like to know where things stand.”

“Your talents won’t be wasted here, Lieutenant. I can promise you that.”

“Good, just keep Captain Protocol off my back. Moff Hurden was all about regulations too. Took longer than it should have to take down the War Trust because of it. The moff didn’t think soldiers could strategize.” He grunted. “Proved him wrong. Don’t want to relive the same damn situation with Quinn. Give me freedom to operate, and you’ll see results.”

“I like what I’ve seen so far,” Morda said.

“Pleased to hear that m’lord.”

Morda nodded and prepared to leave, but Pierce shifted on his feet.

“Do you have more to say?”

“Quinn acts jealous. Are you involved with him?”

Quinn had turned _her_ down, and now he had the gall to act jealous? Is that was their argument had been about? The question was intrusive and brazen, but Morda understood Pierce’s concern. It was no secret among the crew that Pierce came and went from her room at odd hours of the night. What she didn’t need was two men having chest-beating contests on her ship. As entertaining as it might sound, it was really a nuisance. 

“No, we’re not,” she said. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He gave her a direct look and then nodded.

Morda left him, but her thoughts were on Quinn. Would seeing her regular dalliances with Pierce be enough to propel him into action?

As the weeks went by, Quinn acted distant and professional towards her, and while his work was impeccable, they conversed little beyond what was needed to handle the task at hand. Morda spent a short time on Quesh, and then moved on to track down a Jedi on Hoth. She continued to take Pierce with her on most missions. If Quinn minded that he’d been relegated to the sidelines, he showed no sign. He took orders without complaint and managed all the details that Morda didn’t have the time or the inclination to oversee herself. It was easy to forget he was even there at times. He was the perfect crew mate, always prompt and reliable, and if ever there was something crucial that had been overlooked, Morda could count on Quinn to spot it and alert her.

In the meantime, Morda was quite enjoying herself. She felt so alive and energetic these last few months, and working with Pierce was one adrenaline rush after another. Her reputation was growing, and she found recognition and accolades everywhere she went. The only thing that niggled at her was Darth Baras’s growing secrecy regarding her assignments. He tricked her once, sending her on what she thought was a rescue mission, until Morda discovered that the whole scenario had been an elaborate set-up and her role had been to be a mere pawn. She was angry that he had seen fit to exclude her from his true purpose, and was suspicious of his motives. Did he think of her as one of his petty minions, no better than some Force-blind operative or soldier? He had even taken on another apprentice, a Sith who had already been declared a Lord. She was insulted. In was in his name that she earned all this glory after all.

Hoth was miserably cold, and Morda began to long for the hot, sunny days on Korriban. Every trip required extra time to prepare cold weather gear and supplies, and Morda was nearly blinded each day from the glare of the distant sun off the snow and ice. Vette and Quinn both openly shared their distaste of going planetside under such conditions, but Pierce readily volunteered, and it was his presence that made it all bearable. He told jokes, openly taunted their foes, and carried a confidence about him that was as contagious as it was inspiring. He was happiest in the throes of battle and never turned down a chance to showcase his prowess on the field. They took on increasingly difficult challenges, spurring each other on, even engaging in contests of skill to see who had the highest body count. Morda would return to the ship cheerfully exhausted and covered in scrapes and bruises. Quinn took in her frequently common visits to the medbay with silent resignation, dressing her wounds without comment and ordering more supplies when she quickly ran through their stock of bandages and anti-infectants.

Her renown as a warrior grew. She even acquired the loyalty of a Talz fighter named Broonmark who attached himself to her and declared her his master. How could she refuse such adoration? She took him onto the crew, although the rest of the crew gave her some strange looks.

Such a pace couldn’t be sustained forever. Her exhaustion at the end of the day taxed her enough that she began forgoing her frequent sexual encounters with Pierce in favor of simply going to bed early. It was only when her energy continued to decline that she began to wonder if something was wrong. A virus maybe, or stress. No other symptoms surfaced however, and she didn’t seem to be getting better. Annoyance plagued her at first, and then a pang of worry set in. One day a startling possibility occurred to her.

She got up early, when she knew that Quinn would be out on a supply run, and crept into the medbay. She pawed through three different drawers trying to find the bioscanner, and rifled twice through the same cabinet. By the Force, had he alphabetized _everything_? Finally she found it. She gave it a prick of her blood and watched the graph jump as it analyzed her chemical composition. At first it told her she may have some rare lung ailment only suffered by Mon Calimari, until she fiddled with the dials a bit and got in the right testing parameters. How did Quinn manage this thing? It beeped with a new diagnosis.

Damn it all to the void. She was pregnant.

Foolishly, she had assumed that she would be more attuned to her own body, that she would even be able to stop such a thing from occurring. Careless of both of them. Now what? _No one needs to know_ , she thought. She still had time, a few more months at least, before she would start to show. Then she’d...well, she’d figure out something then. No need to have it all worked out right this minute, was there? She went back to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn had just finished restocking the cabinets when Morda appeared in the doorway of the medbay.

“Can I help you my lord?”

Her sharp eyebrow ridges often gave her a perpetually angry look, but tonight they accentuated a certain seriousness in her eyes that made her look preoccupied, even concerned. Quinn was struck by how young she appeared. Ten years lost on Balmorra meant that there was a new crop of young Sith making their way through the ranks, and Quinn had always guessed that there was an age difference between him and Morda. For the first time he wondered how big the gap really was. Her actions lately were full of the recklessness and narrow sightedness of youth. Quinn had attributed it to Pierce’s influence, but perhaps she simply lacked experience.

“Get ready to accompany me tomorrow in the field. I need you.”

“Of course.” He tried to squash the boyish excitement which gripped him at hearing her say she _needed_ him. Even his hatred of Hoth was momentarily forgotten. Whatever she was planning for tomorrow’s mission was important enough that she wanted him there and not Pierce. That meant something. It must.

After she left, Quinn overheard her through his open door talking to Pierce in the neighboring room. He couldn’t make out every word, but it was obvious that Pierce was trying to convince her to change her mind about leaving him behind. He sounded surprised and disgruntled, but eventually he acquiesced. Quinn quickly went to work packing his med bag.

They were hunting two Jedi, and they found them the next day in an ice cavern. Morda fought the younger Jedi, her dual blades a blur of motion and her moves honed and exact. Quinn realized that it had been months since he had seen her fight, and she had improved. She left the young Jedi unconscious, refraining from dealing the killing blow. The older Jedi pleaded with her to show mercy and to leave them be in the cavern. Morda had laughed and then sealed them both in the cavern by throwing a spike of Force power at the walls, causing an avalanche. “Can you imagine the look at that young Wyellett’s face when he discovers that his own Master chose an eternity in an ice prison for him rather than a warrior’s death? Stupid Jedi. Let them rot in each other’s company.”

The Imperial military requested Morda’s help in dealing with a few strategic matters, so their stay on Hoth was prolonged even after Jedi Xerender had been eliminated. Morda took Pierce on these missions and did not ask for Quinn’s presence again. Yet, Quinn noted that none of these battles were as dangerous or risky as the one she had asked him to go on with her. He had been able to tend to her wounds in the field, and she even commented on how pleasant it was to not have to wait until the end of the day. Perhaps she would ask for his help again, in time.

00o00

Quinn unpacked a crate of poison antidote and filed away each of the vials. They were back on Quesh again, a planet with a poisonous atmosphere. All personnel were required to have the vaccine before landing on the planet, and then it had to be re-administered periodically. Customs offered free injections to all Sith by default, but Quinn felt better having his own supply. He knew how things worked in the military. Supply levels were not always monitored as carefully as they should be, permissions had to be acquired, and going through the proper channels sometimes caused delays. Morda’s considerable clout allowed Quinn to order his own personal stash, and he felt much better for it. He advised the crew to come see him to get their injections before the end of the day.

Morda was the last to stop by for hers. She fidgeted on a nearby cot while he prepared the dose. Morda had never been bothered by needles before, and starting a new mission usually sprouted anticipation from her, not nervousness, so he was baffled by her odd mood.

“What’s in that stuff?”

He was confused by the question. “Antibodies, a channel blocker, some inert ingredients…is that what you mean, my lord?”

She was fiddling with her holopad, typing furiously. “Just looking at something. Are there any contraindications?”

“Those with compromised immune systems should avoid using it or visiting Quesh altogether. But my lord, you passed the health inspection last week when we applied for entry. Are you not feeling well now?”

“I feel fine! Did I say anything about not feeling well? Damn it Quinn, just--hang on.” She studied the holopad with great interest, scrolling down the screen with a finger. “Oh, never mind.”

Quinn waited for her to continue or to offer some kind of explanation, but she just stared back at him blankly.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with it.” She waved a hand at him and scowled.

“Of course, my lord.” He approached and she sat there, looking straight ahead, already distracted by some deep thought. She had forgotten to roll up her sleeve. He opened his mouth to say something, but her unwelcome frown stopped him. He took her wrist in his hand and began working on her sleeve himself. She glanced at him in surprise and muttered an “oh, right,” before growing silent again. Something was obviously on her mind. Quinn slid a finger as unobtrusively as he dared over the underside of her wrist and felt her pulse beating fast. He couldn’t do a proper count, but it was noticeably high. She didn’t feel unusually warm. Was she sick? Upset about something? It was not like her to act secretive.

When he was done, he hovered for a moment at her side, indecisive about whether he should say something. She broke from her reverie and reached to redo her sleeve, shooting him a look. “We done here?”

“Yes…Yes, we are finished.”

She hopped off the cot and bolted through the door. His chance to speak was lost.

00o00

He had not expected her to ask for him on this mission, so he was surprised when she did. The Imperial command center had recently discovered a network of tunnels leading into a cavern directly under their building, and Republic troops were scurrying around under there like bugs, readying explosives. It was critical situation.

The tunnels were dark and smelled dank. They were hastily dug, so the floor was uneven and dotted with jutting rocks and roots from nearby trees. Quinn imagined that he could feel the weight of the entire planet pushing down on the low ceilings, ready to crush them at the slightest sound of a skittering rock. As they got closer to their objective, they encountered guards, but their defenses were pitiful against Morda’s attacks. Her lightsabers cast a sinister red glow in the tight tunnels, and created strangely moving shadows. The discharge from Quinn’s blaster was muffled by the close dirt walls. Quinn felt like the planet was sucking them into its belly, devouring the light, the sound, and everything living that entered it. He tried to shake the feeling. This place was getting to him.

The tunnel flowed out into a cavern that was both wide and tall, perhaps it had once been a basement warehouse now condemned to disuse. There they found a few last commandos, guarding a set of explosives. The Pubs tried to put up a fight, and held valiantly to their posts, resisting even though Quinn could clearly see the fear wrought on their faces. He gave them credit for that much at least. One of them proved wilier than the rest. He dived for the detonator, his hands fumbling for the switch. Morda held out a hand to choke him, but it was too late. Quinn saw the trooper press the button. _Is this how it all ends?_

Nothing happened. Morda laughed in the man’s face as he slammed the button again and again, crying, “No, no no!” and then she struck him down with one swing of her lightsaber. She turned and flashed Quinn a triumphant smile.

Her holocom went off. A hazy image of Lord Draagh, Darth Baras’s other apprentice, appeared. He congratulated Morda on her victory, but his tone was smug. There was something very wrong here.

“Darth Baras knew you would strike against him someday, and he has given me the honor of seeing to the end to his most powerful apprentice. This has all been an elaborate set-up by one of Baras’s Republic moles to eliminate you, Lord Morda.” Draagh held up a small box. “I hold the real detonator.” He gave her a mock bow. “Goodbye, Lord Morda.”

He held out his hand and pressed the button with a dramatic flourish. A brilliant flash of light blinded Quinn, followed a split second later by a thunderous blast. He was weightless, the air shaking around him and pebbles pelting him from all sides. A blow connected with his shoulder and he was thrown to the ground. The roar was endless, assaulting his ears as his body was tossed about like he weighed nothing. Hadn’t he already hit the ground once already? Had he been airborne all this time? His notion of up and down ceased to exist. He knew pain, and darkness, and a terrible ear-spitting ring that vibrated throughout his head.

Gradually he became aware of something cold and hard against his cheek. He groaned but could not hear his own voice. He was not dead. He had survived. He opened his eyes but immediately had to close them again and rub out the grit with his hands before he could try again.

“My lord!” It was a pathetic croak, far drowned out by that infernal ringing. Was he deaf? He stumbled to his feet. The ground was littered with stones the size of a land speeder. The ground rocked under his feet and he fell. No, the ground had not moved, his balance was off. He got up again, slower this time, and turned in a gentle circle. Lord Morda was nowhere in sight.

“My lord!” His voice sounded so far away. How would she ever hear him? “My lord!” His throat burned and his voice broke. He stumbled around the cavern, staring at the fallen rocks, terrified that he would see a red-skinned limb crushed underneath one of the boulders. This place was tomb now, and the thought of being trapped here alone made him wish that he had been killed by the blast instead. This was no mercy, it was a nightmare.

Then he saw it. A sickening feeling gripped him in the gut and he ran towards the patch of red that he had spotted among a pile of fallen rubble. He wrestled with rocks that were half his size, panic welling in his chest. There, in a tiny pocket of space, Morda lay crumpled on the ground, her limbs splayed awkwardly. He caught sight of one wild eye blinking back at him, and her hand burst through one of the holes to grip his. She squeezed tight and for a moment Quinn did nothing else but hold on, feeling the warmth of her hand inside his, relief pouring through him.

“I’ve got you, my lord…hang on...I’ve got you.” He dropped to the ground beside her, and continued to repeat barely sensical words of comfort while he wrenched the rocks away from her. At last he grabbed her by the arm and hoisted her to her knees, but when he tried to bring her to her feet, she threw her arms around him and held him tight. She remained, simply hanging on, saying nothing, and Quinn returned the embrace automatically, clutching her to him and burying his face in her dusty hair. “I’ve got you,” he said again. Her arms gave him a hard squeeze and he thought he heard her speak his name into his ear. Whether it was from the strain of lifting the rocks or the shock over what had happened he wasn’t sure, but he realized that he was shaking. He cradled her head against his shoulder and stroked her hair. Under normal circumstances, he would never have allowed himself to be so bold, but none of that felt like it mattered now. He was just grateful to have pulled her from the rubble alive.

She coughed, gagging on the clouds of dust that were still settling around them. He released her and helped her to her feet. For a while they stood in the cavern like two lost souls, staring around at room, which was virtually unrecognizable now. Quinn began poking through the rubble again, searching for his med bag. When he found it, he returned to Morda. She was slumped against a rock, looking dazed, hunched over while hugging her abdomen.

“Are you all right?” He broke out the scanner and hurriedly ran it over her.

“I think so,” she said. “Bruised but whole.” She straightened. “Are you?”

Quinn hadn’t thought to assess his own injuries. He gingerly touched his face and winced. “Nothing that won’t mend,” he said. The scanner beeped and Quinn looked over the read-out. No major injuries were reported, although some of her counts were a bit off. He ran the scan again and frowned at it.

“I’m fine,” she said, stronger this time.

“Yes, my lord, amazingly so. I think the calibration is off on this machine though. It must have gotten knocked around during the blast.”

“There’s light over there. Let’s see if it leads out.”

They followed one of the tunnels a short ways before realizing it was a dead end. They found another and thought that one was blocked too, but then Morda spotted a gap and they each took turns squeezing through. They ended up a good ways away from the command center. They spoke little during the long walk back, but at one point Morda reached out and took his hand in hers, and then kept it there for the rest of the journey.

Once they returned to civilization, they were quickly separated. Quinn spotted Morda being tended to on a cot in the far corner, nodding and conversing with a droid. Quinn sat on his own cot while another medical droid fussed around him, but his thoughts were already far away. Baras wanted Morda dead and he would have died with her. Did Baras simply lump him in with Morda now, or was he that insignificant? What did all this mean?

00o00

“My lord,” the droid’s glowing eye sockets blinked at her. “You are in a dual life-form state.”

“I’m still…the baby’s alive?”

“All life signs are positive.”

Morda threw her head in her hands and breathed deep. She quickly composed herself. The droid was still speaking.

“You are lacking in nutritional supplements, and you have no record of medical care since you entered this status change.”

“And it will stay that way, you hear? You will erase the record of this exam.” Morda glared at the droid.

“Acknowledged. Records set to destruct on conclusion of this exchange. Please take form 22B-7654-EC to the medicine distribution center to receive your supplements. This will ease your exhaustion.”

“Fine, fine,” Morda said. The droid attached a data stick to her holopad, transferring the form to her memory bank, and handed it back to her. “I don’t want a record of these supplements either.”

“Sending discretionary protocols to distribution center records now.” The droids eyes blinked again.

“Are we done here?”

“Exam complete.”

Morda got up and began looking for Captain Quinn. She found him sitting on a pallet. The left side of his face was discolored and had started to swell. She guessed that he might be getting a black eye along with it. At least her bruises were mostly invisible under her clothes.

“Quinn, head back to the ship when you are done. Don’t wait for me. I have something to attend to and then I will be along.”

“Yes, my lord.” His voice was hoarse and barely recognizable.

It was late when Morda returned to the ship. Broonmark was the only one awake. He burbled something that sounded welcoming and Morda gave him a distracted wave. She was more than exhausted. She eased herself into bed, mindful of her new bruises, but sleep would not come. She stared at the ceiling, then turned and buried her head under her pillow, then flipped to her stomach. She couldn’t tolerate this position long however. It felt like someone had strapped a huttball to her abdomen and it was hard and uncomfortable. _The baby is growing bigger_ , she thought. _I can’t sleep on my stomach anymore._

She rolled over again and sighed. Her ears were still faintly ringing from the explosion hours ago. A warrior faced death every battle, and injuries were common, but cybernetics could fix loss of limbs and other serious traumas, so Morda had rarely considered the possibility that she might encounter something powerful enough to kill her instantly. Her own mortality felt far closer than she had ever considered, and worse yet was the thought that this baby -- her baby -- could have been killed as well. Being pregnant was a bigger responsibility than she had wanted to admit.

Her Sith master wanted her dead and no doubt thought he had succeeded. There was an advantage in this. She couldn’t keep going along blithely acting like nothing had changed. She needed to lay low while she was vulnerable, and see this baby birthed safely. Then, and only then, could she turn her goals to revenge.

Once her decision was made, Morda decided that sleep was pointless. She rose and went to go wake Vette.

00o00

Quinn was abruptly thrown out of his sound sleep by a pounding on the medbay door. He stumbled from bed and hit the entry switch. Pierce was on the other side, glowering and still wearing his nighttime shirt and shorts.

“Lord Morda is gone. Vette too.” Pierce grabbed Quinn by the scruff of his shirt and jerked him forward. “What happened? Start talking.”

“What are you talking about?” Quinn yanked his shirt out of Pierce’s fist. “I suggest you back off and start explaining instead.”

Jaesa came around the corner. “Check your holos, both of you. She left us all messages.”

Quinn’s holocomm was by his bedside table, blinking. He flicked it on. Morda appeared, looking worn and tired.

“Captain, I need to go away for a time.” She paused and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know how long exactly. A while. I’ve made arrangements for all of you to be posted on Quesh. This is a temporary assignment, and I will be reassembling the crew when I return. Quinn…” Her eyes looked right through the holo at him, serious and pleading. “…the ship is under your command. Take care of things for me…I know you will.” Her image flickered and then disappeared.

Quinn stared at the holo for a moment, too stunned for coherent thought. Why had she left them? Yesterday would have been a traumatic experience for anyone, even a Sith, but it was not like her to back down from hardship. Her behavior was baffling and completely out of character. He recalled the way she had thrown herself into his arms back in the cavern, and how she had gripped his hand nearly the whole walk back. He had felt a connection then, felt wanted. Had he imagined more meaning there than there really was? The explosion had shaken her no doubt, but when he had last seen her, she was back to acting like her old self again, confident and in charge. Was she unwell?

Pierce was back in Quinn’s doorway, his holo in hand. He snorted. “Hell, looks like a rancor crapped on your face, Quinn. What happened out there? We heard Baras tried to kill her. Is that why she’s running?”

“Darth Baras rigged the whole thing to bring down the cavern on us. Lord Draagh set off the explosives.” Quinn set down the holo. “I…I don’t know how we survived.”

“Running’s a coward’s way out! She should know better than that. Don’t understand it.” Pierce shook his head.

“It’s not our place to judge,” Quinn said. He looked out at Pierce and Jaesa and even Broonmark, who was hovering nearby, gurgling mournfully, and saw their faces turned to him, waiting for guidance. He could hear the ship’s droid just out of sight muttering, “Oh dear, oh dear…” The crew needed leadership and direction. It was time for him to step up and take charge of things.

“We will report to the command center on Quesh like Lord Morda directed. We have jobs to do and we won’t be idle while she is gone. They will probably want you to move to the local barracks, Lieutenant,” he nodded in Pierce’s direction, “so you should gather up your belongings and report there. The rest of you will get your assignments when we report in. More will be explained to us then.”

They dispersed and he closed the medbay door. He leaned against it and stared at the med cot that he called a bed. He wanted to crawl back under the sheets and start this day over. Events from the previous day replayed in his head, but he still hadn’t worked out the meaning of it all. He would follow Morda’s orders and trust that she knew her business. It was not his call to question a Sith after all.

He got dressed and left his room. The ship’s droid accosted him in the hallway.

“Lord Morda did not leave me instructions,” it said. “Are you my master now? Please don’t deactivate me!”

“I will be your master in her absence,” Quinn told the droid. “You will carry on with your duties as normal.”

He sighed. Even the droid needed reassuring. What was he left with other than questions? He would make do. He began to make preparations for his deployment to Quesh.


	6. Chapter 6

The stark light of the Korriban sun clawed its way through the slitted windows, drawing sharp lines across the tile floor. The room was sparse, the quarters meant for a slave, but Morda found the privacy perfect for someone who simply wanted to disappear for a while. Lord Morella had expressed disdain at Morda’s choice in living arrangement, repeatedly suggesting that she’d be better off in the main manor of the estate, where she and the baby could enjoy the luxuries she deserved. Morda explained to her mother that she didn’t want any word of her existence – or the baby’s – getting out. Morella thought the household guards would be sufficient to protect her, but Morda saw no need to take that chance. Her father had come to visit her a few times, grunting noncommittally at her peasant surroundings, but he did not pester her about her decision.

Outside the slave’s cottage, Morda could step onto a tiny stoop and catch a glimpse beyond the high rock walls of the compound of the endless red dunes and rocky fields behind her family’s estate. In the other direction, through the carefully tended foliage of her family’s gardens, Morda could see the rooftop of the manor where she had grown up, all harsh, straight lines and angles. From here, the true beauty of the house was hidden, but Morda knew that niches along the walls displayed small carved statues of Sith and fearsome renditions of creatures spawned from ancient dark alchemistic arts. Intricate patterned tiles decorated the walkways, and even more dramatic ones could be found on the high, open ceilings inside. Morda had been tempted, sorely so at times, to step inside the manor, but she had refrained from showing her face all these months, not even trusting the servants to keep quiet.

There were a few that knew of her presence. Vette of course, the family groundskeeper, and one of the more trusted house slaves. Morda didn’t know what she would have done without Vette. The girl had taken care of her and kept her company, especially during those last few tiresome months when Morda felt bloated and awkward. She hated feeling so helpless, but Vette helped with the simple tasks she could no longer perform, like putting on her shoes in the mornings. Her constant chatter kept Morda’s mind off of the dreadful boredom that set in as the baby’s birth neared. Morda discovered that she knew little about her personal slave, and found herself increasingly curious about Vette’s family and life before being captured. Vette had many amusing tales of her life living among a pirate crew, or of her days as a treasure-hunter, and while she was reticent at first, she eventually began to share her stories with Morda. Morda had never laughed so hard until she heard Vette’s impression of a sleezy Rhodian her crew once swindled, and she quite enjoyed the stories that featured Vette’s frequent captures and subsequent escapes. Sometimes Vette would grow sad and her voice would trail off, breaking the spell. Only then was Morda reminded that they weren’t two friends sharing memories, but a master and slave, and things could never be truly at ease between them.

Vette had been at her side all through her labor and birth, hovering over her and holding her hand. She in fact had been the first sentient being to hold baby Mordius, taking him from the delivery droid’s hands and placing him against Morda’s chest. Even Lord Morella had missed the final moments when Morda’s baby came into the world, but Vette had been there, shrieking with joy and squealing over the baby’s tiny toes and bunched fists.

Mordius was perfect. When Morda first looked upon his scrunched red face, he blinked back at her with alert orange eyes and promptly squeezed his arm out of the bunting, freeing his fist and shoving as many knuckles as possible into his mouth. Morda was overjoyed to see that he was a Pureblood, with strong features and beautiful unmarred skin a shade slightly lighter than hers.

“He looks like you,” Vette said. “He has your eyebrows.”

He also had strong striations across his cheekbones and a wild patch of straight, reddish hair that feathered off his head in a wispy stripe down the center of his skull. Morda could see Pierce in him as well. He had Pierce’s square, jutting jaw and strong nose. He was a healthy child, and he gained weight quickly, until rolls of fat covered his arms and legs, creating little creases along even his wrists and ankles. Morda’s parents were ecstatic, and within days of his birth Lord Morella began asking when she could throw the announcement party. It had caused an argument between them when Morda had not only refused, but reminded her that the child’s existence needed to remain a secret – at least for now. At least until she confronted Baras.

Adjusting to caring for a newborn was not easy, but Morda had been happy. She didn’t suspect that anything was wrong until Mordius was about three months old. She had started thinking about reinstating her crew and leaving Mordius to her family’s care for a time. She could come back and visit him frequently. She had already envisioned a prosperous future for her son; growing up among the gardens of the estate with a household of slaves to care for him; Force training as soon as he was old enough to begin wielding his power; and of course he would join the proud family history of Sith by enrolling at the Academy once he had shown readiness to compete with his peers.

It started as an uneasy feeling of _wrongness_ , like an off note among a perfect chorus. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that it was like a song with beautiful accompaniment but a missing melody. Morda stared at her infant son, searching for a spark of power, even a tiny immature kernel that would sprout in time. What began as a vague discomfort grew into a nagging fear, and eventually a full-blown obsession. Was her son a Force-blind? Not all children manifested their power at a young age, most in fact took time to really show the signs, but Morda had always believed that potential greatness still shone through like a sun through a shutter, with bits of brightness leaking out to catch an eye. Sometimes, when she reached out to her son she felt a tiny ray of hope, like a pinprick of light was there, just beyond her sight, but most times she felt nothing.

How could fate play such a cruel joke? Sith Purebloods were the most respected and renowned of the ancient Force-using races. Some went as far as to say that they were the dark side incarnate, a perfect organic vessel of dark side Force power. To be a Pureblood and not Force-sensitive was to be an aberration, a mistake of the bloodline. If Morda’s son had had fully human features, she would have been disappointed but not devastated. Children crossed from human and Pureblood parents would sometimes not inherit the luck of their superior parent’s biology, but a Force-blind human child could still find a respectable position within the military. A Pureblood child though faced a lifetime of ridicule and disparagement.

_He will simply have to be a soldier_ , she told herself, _like his father._ If his healthy growth rate was any indication, he would be tall and broad-shouldered like Pierce. She would have to raise him to have a thick skin and to be able to defend himself well with strength of arms instead of the Force. It could be done. Still, she worried about him, day after day, wondering, hoping really, that she was wrong.

One day, she decided that she could not keep wondering any longer. She needed to know.

“Are you ready, my lord?” Vette slung the provisions bag over her shoulder and looked expectantly at Morda. Morda uncurled her legs from the bed and carefully tucked the baby in a carrier.

“I’m ready,” she said. “Better leave before it starts getting light.”

She left a note for the house slave to give to her parents, informing them that she had business and that she would return in a few days. They would question her disappearance, but she wasn’t ready to admit to them her fears. She couldn’t just go to anyone about such a delicate matter. Besides the fact that she was still concealing her identity, she also did not want to bring disgrace to her family. Word would get out if she brought the child to be tested anywhere on Korriban. So a bit of traveling was in order. _I’ll know soon enough_ , she thought.

00o00

Morda fastened the straps of the baby sling around Vette’s shoulders and adjusted the height so that Mordius’s face could be easily hidden within the folds of Vette’s jacket. She didn’t want it to look like she was hiding something, only like Vette was carrying a sleeping child that she didn’t want disturbed. Still, if Mordius awoke and squirmed or turned his head, his red skin would probably be visible to a close observer. They had to take an additional precaution.

“The collar has to go on now, Vette,” Morda said. She was surprised herself at the apologetic tone in her voice. They hadn’t been out in public for a long time, so the old shock collar had gotten no use for that duration, but it wouldn’t do for a Twi’lek to be seen alone on Nar Shadaa carrying a Pureblood child. The collar would mark Vette as a slave on an errand for her master, a nanny perhaps, and the disparity would not cause suspicion.

“I know,” Vette said. “Just do it.”

Morda snapped the collar on. She could not go herself and see this fallen Jedi guru. The taint of shame was too great, and she also feared recognition.

“Don’t let him cheat you.” Morda handed Vette a credit stick. “There’s five thousand on here. He’ll see that you work for a Sith lord, but if he tries to give you the run around, tell him I’ll have his head. I don’t have any problem showing my face to a _dead_ Jedi.”

“Right-O.” Vette put her arms protectively around Mordius. She had shown nothing but kindness towards the baby, and Morda trusted her. Still, it pained her to see Vette turn and walk away. Mordius’s chubby limbs peeked from the sling, bouncing slightly with Vette’s steps, until Vette entered the exiled Jedi’s dingy shop and was no longer visible.

Morda paced outside next to a bench. What would her parents think? Morda couldn’t recall any ancestor in their recent history who had not been adept in the Force. Her mother would feel humiliated and rescind the offer of a birth announcement party. Her father would give her a lecture about how it wasn’t her fault (probably trying harder to convince himself than her) and then offer to pay for the child to attend a boarding school as soon as he was old enough. The offer would sound generous, but really it would just be another way to disassociate Mordius from the family name. Even if Mordius couldn’t touch the Force, he could still carry on the bloodline…and perhaps the next generation would fare better.

Morda thought of the feel of Mordius’s soft silky hair against her lips when she kissed him, or the joy she had felt when he had first smiled at her, his whole body jittering with excitement. She had brought him into this world, and it was her job to see that he had the best life possible. She ached to do right by him.

She spotted Vette coming back out the door of the shop and her heart pinched in her chest. She waited, watching as Vette slowly crossed the plaza towards her, trying to discern the expression on her features. When Vette got close enough she smiled at Morda, but it was a sad smile.

“What happened?” Morda vaguely realized that she was clenching and unclenching her fist in the fabric of her robes.

“He’s not Force-blind,” Vette said. “But the Jedi thinks he may only be able to manipulate the Force sporadically and with little effect. His sensitivity is very low.” Vette stared at Morda, and the pity in her eyes made Morda want to throttle her. “I’m sorry my lord.”

Morda let out a growl that quickly grew into a yell. She snapped out her arm and sent a jolt of power at the nearest object, which happened to be a holotree. Smoke broke out from the base, and a spray of yellow sparks soon followed. The holo image went black.

The baby twitched in the sling and let out a frightened wail. Vette bounced him up and down trying to comfort him.

“My lord, at least he’s not totally blind though, right?”

“No!” Morda spun on her, annoyed with the girl’s stupidity. “This is far worse. He’ll be sent to Korriban where he’ll last barely a day! It’s a death sentence. There’s nowhere in the Empire where he’d be able to hide.”

She stalked off, and Vette trailed behind, still shushing Mordius. She couldn’t allow him to die in such an inglorious way. At that moment, she didn’t care about the Academy’s policy of culling the weak from the strong, or about what was for the good of the Empire. Mordius was her son, her flesh and blood. She couldn’t willingly condemn him to die. Where would he be safe? How long could she hide him? It would be a futile effort and she couldn’t protect him forever. Everywhere he went his red skin and Pureblood features would mark him as Sith, and as such he would be assumed to have Force-sensitivity. He would be asked to prove himself again and again. It was only a matter of time before some disgusted Sith just killed him outright, if the Academy didn’t get to him first. He would be lucky if he made it into adulthood at all.

She could leave, she thought. She could run away, perhaps to some remote star system. As soon as the idea entered her head she knew how impractical it was. She would be throwing her life away, and what kind of life would either of them get in return? A life in hiding, without recognition and goals to strive for would cause her to wither and die. It was no life for a Sith, or for either of them.

“You should tell Pierce what’s going on. He doesn’t even know he’s a father,” Vette said from behind.

Morda stopped. “What good would that do?”

Vette shrugged. “I dunno. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“It’s not going to change anything.”

“Just…call him, will you? I’ll do it if you want.”

Morda turned her back and kept walking. “Fine. Tell him to come home to Korriban. I’ll meet him there.”

00o00

“My lord,” said the house slave, “your guest is here for you. Should I bring him here?”

“Admit him.”

A few moments later, the door opened and Pierce stepped in, his heavy boots echoing around the spare walls. The small room felt even smaller with him in it, and he had to duck his head to get beyond the door’s threshold. His eyes flitted about the perimeter of the room, alighting finally on the cradle in the corner, where Mordius slept protected by energy walls.

Pierce cleared his throat. “M’lord.”

“It’s been a long time Lieutenant.”

“We…we didn’t know what to think m’lord. We began to wonder…”

“You thought I’d abandoned you?”

“Just didn’t know where you’d gone or when you’d be back is all. Then Vette called me…” He cast a furtive glance in the baby’s direction. There was an awkward silence before he filled it again. “Brought something.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a brightly colored box, then stepped forward and thrust it in Morda’s direction. “For the little guy.”

Morda took it. Splashed across the box in bright block letters was the phrase, “Imperial Star Destroyer” and then in smaller type, “collect the whole armada!” Printed on the front was a picture of a toy spaceship, obviously meant for a much older child.

“Thank you, Pierce.”

He shrugged.

“Come hold your son.” Morda rose and shut off the crib’s protective barrier. Mordius stretched and made a cooing noise when she picked him up, but otherwise did not wake up. “This is Mordius.” She held him out and Pierce hesitated, shifting on his feet. Morda looked at him expectantly and he took the baby, holding the child out so that his legs dangled awkwardly in the air.

“I don’t know about babies, m’lord.” He stared at the baby like it was k’lor’slug. Mordius’s face scrunched up and he showed off a mouthful of empty gums. For a moment there was no sound, and then he began to sputter and howl, throwing out his arms and kicking his legs. Pierce’s eyes flew to Morda with alarm.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Pierce, you lug, you don’t a hold a baby like that!” Vette came through the door and gave Pierce a glare. “You scared him.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow in Morda’s direction. “See?” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the baby’s shrieking cries. “Uh, maybe you should take him back.”

Morda let out a huff and came and took the baby. “Sit down Lieutenant,” she directed, “and hold your arms like this.” She carefully laid Mordius back in Pierce’s awkward grasp. Pierce sat there, stiff and uncomfortable, staring at the child like he was a bomb that might explode at any moment. Vette rolled her eyes and walked out.

When Vette was gone, he cleared his throat and looked up at her. “M’lord, what do you want of me?”

Morda crossed her arms. For once she towered over him. “Nothing. I just wanted you to meet your son for the first and the last time. Then, I will be sending him away for his own protection.”

Pierce bristled. “You don’t think you or I can protect him?”

“It’s not that simple. Mordius cannot manipulate the Force. He will be killed if he stays in Imperial space.”

Pierce looked away, deciding to study Mordius’s face instead. “Oh,” he said. Then, “he’s a sturdy one, isn’t he? Gonna be strong someday.”

“I hope so.” _For his sake._

Morda suspected that Pierce was relieved that she expected so little of him in his role as a father. Rules and a tightly restrained life of responsibility would be like chains to such a man. Those months spent at Pierce’s side were the most excitement she’d ever had, but looking back, their fun felt reckless and wonton. Risk was required in her job, but she wondered if some of her actions had bordered on stupidity. _We stormed a base full of armed troopers_ , she thought, _with nothing to back us up but Pierce’s brawn and my lightsabers._ Mordius, her beautiful baby, was an awkwardness now between them. Morda liked Pierce, but she couldn’t imagine a future with him, nor had she ever intended one.

Their leave-taking was strained and mostly wordless. Morda took Mordius from Pierce’s arms and he shuffled his feet, refusing to meet her eyes.

“I will be reassembling the crew soon,” Morda told him. “Be ready.”

He snapped to attention, eager to assume a role he knew and could identify with. “Look forward to it, m’lord.”

“Good. Don’t tell anyone about this meeting. I will contact the crew myself when the time is right.”

“Understood, m’lord.”

Morda watched him go, trying to understand how so much could have changed in less than a year’s time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter has brief cameos by Risha and Corso.

Jaesa, Pierce, and even Broonmark acted as if their brief time as a crew together was barely a memory. Jaesa openly declared that she expected Lord Morda to never return. It had been many months, but Quinn had not forgotten.

He did as he was told by his superiors at the Quesh base, overseeing a few space missions and managing transfers and personnel matters. That is how he discovered Pierce’s unsanctioned trip to Korriban. Pierce had applied for extraplanetary leave, going through all the proper channels. The time off itself was approved, but he had not supplied the proper documentation for his request to leave Quesh, and so that had been denied. Quinn noted this with vague disinterest. His curiosity was peaked however though when a higher authority had overridden the denial, approved Pierce’s pass for interstellar travel, and then marked his destination classified.

Quinn investigated, which required pulling in a few discretely worded favors, and was rewarded with Pierce’s flight schedule. The Lieutenant had gone to Korriban. A common soldier had no business on the predominantly Sith planet, only those connected to the academy, invited by a Lord, or doing the bidding of the Dark Council itself ever went there. Quinn stared at Pierce’s itinerary, stunned at how blind he had been. Morda’s family lived on Korriban. Had she simply gone home? Had she been hiding in plain sight all this time?

It stung to think that she had called Pierce to her without notifying him or any of the others. Her ship was under his command, and he had done everything she had requested, keeping the ship maintenance up to date, monitoring the rest of the crew’s activities, and of course, patiently waiting for her return. Was this how she rewarded him? Something odd was going on. After letting it eat away at him for two days, Quinn decided to travel to Korriban himself.

Three days later he stood outside the gates of Morda’s family’s estate, looking over the high walls from a vantage point of a nearby hill. Could he walk right up to the door and request admittance? If Morda had gone to the effort of hiding her presence here, then he doubted her family would give her away that easily. The thought of having to deal with Morda’s mother, Lord Morella, made him flinch. It would not be wise for him to be seen, he decided.

He lost another day making plans and watching the estate from his distant vantage point, marking the daily routines of the slaves and whatever comings or goings that might occur. He saw no one enter or leave however. He slept that night in a nearby cave, determined to implement a scheme that would get him the information he required.

Early the next morning he slipped through a crumbled and neglected corner of the enclosing wall and approached the gardens. He carefully padded his steps so that the gardener would not notice him, until got close enough to see the door that led from the garden to the house. Yesterday morning, a few slaves had come out and gathered flowers and other herbs, and Quinn had noticed that none of them were wearing collars. Some Sith, he was aware, considered this a sign of their power, that their slaves obeyed them without need of an external crutch. This would make things easier. By the time his right leg had gone numb from squatting, he was awarded with what he sought.

A skinny rose-skinned Twi’lek entered the garden, tip-toeing delicately through a flower bed, and began snipping choice buds of some of the flowers there. He readied his darts and waited for her to come closer. He had expected to have to tag her from a distance, but she came surprisingly close to his hiding spot, and he held still, holding his breath, as she entered an area of the garden that was barely a few paces from him. He shot the tranquilizer dart and she slapped at her neck, muttering. In the next moment, she was wavering on her feet, and then she crumpled to the ground.

Quinn darted forward and lifted her in his arms. Thankfully she was wisp of a thing, although now that he was up close, he could see that she was older than she had first appeared, a woman well into her prime. He carried her back to the cave he had been using as a base, and set her on the dusty floor. Then he opened his med kit and began arranging his tools on a nearby rock, while he waited for her consciousness to return.

He had just started preparing the first of the syringes when she moaned and rolled onto her side. She propped herself onto her hands, took one quick look at the tight, dark walls of the cave around her, and then visibly jumped when she spotted Quinn. She scrambled backwards on all fours until she hit the wall behind her, whimpering.

“I certainly hope that you speak Basic.” Quinn rose and approached her until he stood over her, looking down. He had done a few interrogations back on Balmorra, but the more reticent prisoners he had handed over to those with greater skill than he, and so he hoped now that this girl would be pliable. He didn’t have the proper tools for such a job, but he knew how to get creative with his medical supplies. He stood a little too close, emphasizing his height advantage, and crossed his arms as he studied her. She quickly grew uncomfortable with his wordless stare and finally blurted out in accented Basic, “What do you want?”

He grimaced at her and backed away, settling himself next to the rock, and picked up the first syringe. “I need information. If you cooperate, this doesn’t have to be painful.” He filled it, holding it up so that she could easily see the liquid as it entered the vial, and then fastened the needle onto the tip, turning it experimentally in the faint light. Her eyes were round and wide, and they darted from the needle to him and then back again.

“Where is Lord Morda?”

The slave shook her head, her head tails swaying across her shoulders. “She’s not here.”

“Where is she?” he repeated slowly.

She took a quick breath that sounded more like a sob and choked out, “I don’t know.”

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.” By the stars, what if she really didn’t know? This could go badly. He set down the syringe and filled another, lining it neatly on the rock’s surface next to the first. “Do you know what this is?”

The slave stared, her pupils bare pinpricks within the whites of her eyes.

“This is an adrenal, used to rouse unresponsive patients under the effects of certain sedatives or coma-inducing poisons. It is a strong stimulant, and when given in a concentrated dose, it causes increased respiration, elevated heart rate, tremors, sweating and eventually convulsions. Unpleasant, but bearable perhaps, depending on your tolerance for such things. However, when combined with this,” he held up the second syringe, “together they induce severe itching and powerful hallucinations. Sufferers end up clawing their own skin into bloody tatters before the effect has worn off, or sometimes even poking out their own eyes. Now,” he paused and picked up a third vial, which he also began to prepare for injection, “this third serum here causes muscle paralysis, but an overdose brings on severe shivering and causes the muscles to seize up painfully. It’s agonizing, I’m told.”

He picked up the first syringe and stepped closer to the slave. “I have lots more medical supplies where those came from.” He bent close to her and held her eyes. “What do you say?”

“My masters will have you flayed alive,” she sputtered. Her voice was tremulous but he could hear the forced courage in it. What if the slave’s fear of her masters was greater than anything he could inflict? He decided to try a different tactic.

He stood and nodded to her. “You loyalty to your masters is commendable. I work for Lord Morda. I know she is in hiding. However, she is in danger and I cannot warn her if I cannot reach her. If you help me, you are helping her, and you will be rewarded.” It was close enough to the truth. “There was a visitor to the house a few days ago. A soldier. Do you remember him?”

The slave shook her head rapidly.

“I know Lord Morda was here,” he said. He didn’t know, but his suspicions were strong and it might be easier to get her to admit to suggestions than to offer up her own information. “And that she met with Lieutenant Pierce.”

“He left. Days ago.”

“Did Lord Morda leave with him?”

The slave shook her head. “He left alone.”

“When did Lord Morda leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“There was a Twi’lek slave with her, named Vette. Do you know of her?”

The slave’s eyelids twitched. “I saw her around a few times.”

“Is she here?”

“No, she’s gone too.”

“Did she leave with Lord Morda?”

The slave said nothing. He was growing tired of this charade. He lunged at her without warning, grabbing her by the arm. She shrieked and kicked at him wildly, trying to scramble across the floor to get away. He threw her back into the dirt and straddled her, sticking the needle into her arm and emptying its contents. He had told the truth about all the serums, but this dose was milder than he had let on. It would cause some of the initial uncomfortable symptoms, but not the convulsions. She fell limp and started sobbing. He stood up.

“You are making this hard and I am growing impatient.”

“Who are you?” she whimpered.

“I am the one asking the questions, not you!” He crossed the room and snatched up the second syringe. She was on all fours, skittering clumsily towards the exit, but he caught up with her, pushed her to the ground and then pinned her there, holding the syringe before her face.

“Wait!” she cried. “Lord Morda left with Vette two days ago. She didn’t tell anyone where she was going, but she took a public shuttle off Korriban. I overheard the lady of the house saying that she had stolen her I.D. pass.”

“Lord Morella you mean? She’s traveling under her mother’s name?”

“Yes!”

He released her and rose. The slave curled up on the floor, shaking and gasping. Some of it was probably fear, but Quinn also suspected that the serum was starting to kick in. “You can go.”

“What?” She sat up and took a deep, shaky breath.

“Get up.” Quinn rummaged in his medical bag while she got awkwardly to her feet. “Listen, you were in garden, when you realized you were not feeling well. You fainted. You are sick and need some rest.”

“But--”

He pulled her toward him and shot her with another injection. She yelped and pulled away. “What was that?”

“You’re going to pass out soon. You’d better hurry back. Your blood pressure is dropping.” She stood there just staring at him. “Get going!”

She tripped towards the cave exit and began running. He watched her go, and then followed her a ways behind. If she didn’t make it, he would have to carry her back to the garden himself. She stumbled a few times, holding her head, and finally he saw her cross into the confines of the garden. She made it a few more steps before falling to the ground.

Quinn pulled out his holopad and began searching the flight records for the nearest spaceport. He found that a Lord Morella had indeed been registered for a flight with her personal slave to Nar Shadaa only days ago. He knew where he needed to go next.

00o00

He didn’t like this section of the city, it had far too many aliens and people with Republic accents for his comfort. He’d been following Vette for two hours, and his search had ended here, at this unremarkable cantina. He had wisely chosen to wear street clothes, grabbing what little options he had in his wardrobe and ending up with a nondescript black shirt and trousers. Still, he was growing concerned that his clean cut appearance and Imperial accent would mark him if he had to stay in this place too long. The cantina was near one the main spaceports, and catered to spacers and other transients. He did not fit in here.

Quinn had chosen a small table near the door, and had been watching a certain elevator for a long time now. Clientele with enough credits could request a private room for meetings or other social gatherings and someone had apparently paid for Vette do reserve such a room. Vette had gone into the elevator nearly a half an hour ago and had still not come out. She was meeting with two others, who had shown up a few minutes after her, another female Twi’lek and a male human. The Twi’lek looked like a shady sort, with two impressively modified pistols on her belt and the confident, sardonic swagger of one who believed that the usual laws did not apply to them. Her companion had to be a mercenary or bodyguard by his dress, but looked like he was barely old enough to have a pilot’s license, let alone be capable of protecting someone.

Quinn finished off his drink and was about to order another when the spacer and her companion reappeared. They left quickly, not chatting with each other and acting in a hurry. Vette soon followed, looking around furtively before heading for the door. Quinn and made to follow, but sat back down quickly when a third woman emerged from the room, who he had not known was there. She must have arrived before Vette. She wore a long red trench coat and a spacer’s hat. She flipped a few credits at the bartender, giving him an arrogant and somewhat flirtatious smile before leaving out the main door as well. Quinn rose and left.

Vette and the strange human woman were just outside, embracing like dear sisters about to part. “Are you sure now?” he heard the woman say. “Because you know Captain Visia smuggles out slaves all the time. We could get you out of here in a jiffy.”

Vette rubbed her eyes, as if wiping away tears, and shook her head. “Thank you Risha, I mean it, really. But…not now. She needs me and I couldn’t do that to her.”

“This Sith better be treating you like a rare artifact for you to be talking like that.” The woman named Risha sighed. “Fine, but you know where to find me. I’ve got to head out. I won’t be there for the exchange at the ship. So...I guess this is goodbye.”

The two women embraced for a long time, holding each other tightly. When they finally parted, Vette just stood on the sidewalk, looking about and sighing. She wasn’t wearing her collar anymore, Quinn noticed. She began walking to where she had parked her speeder.

Quinn had already set a tracer on her speeder, but all of this was just getting weirder by the minute. He made a quick decision.

He bolted after her. She heard his footsteps and spun, reaching for a set of blasters at her hips. How had he not noticed that Morda had let her be armed? Quinn knocked aside one of the guns and grabbed her other wrist, forcing it behind her back.

“Damn it Vette, don’t shoot me,” he hissed. “And don’t cause a scene.”

“Captain Quinn,” she sputtered. “What’s going…what…what are you doing here? Ugh, let go of me.”

He released her and she put her blasters away, glaring at him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “Meeting with smugglers, Lord Morda completely absent…what are _you_ doing?”

“I can’t believe you found me here. I’m acting on Morda’s orders. Which _you_ obviously aren’t.”

“Lord Morda disappears for almost a year with no explanation, and then I find you here, conspiring with outlaws. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t think that you are a traitor?”

Vette made a noise of disgust. “You want to know what happened? Fine, be a jerk about it. Morda got pregnant, ok? Pierce is the father. The baby is not force-sensitive and so he needs to be smuggled out of Imperial space.”

Quinn took a step back. Pregnant. By the void, how had he not realized this? She had been acting strange, her bioscans were off, yet he had spent so little time exposed to such situations that it had never occurred to him. Emotions flitted through him. Shock, guilt, disgust, confusion. Pierce, the father of Morda’s baby? He didn’t deserve such a distinction. Then it registered what Vette had said last.

“What do you mean she’s smuggling him out of Imperial space?” The thought almost filled him with a physical pain, and he was surprised at his own reaction. Did she think so little of Force-insensitives? Like he, like her _own baby_ , were worthless? “You mean she’s throwing the child away because he’ll never be Sith?”

It came at him so fast that he didn’t even see what had hit him. He rocked back on his heels and then bent over his stinging cheek, looking at Vette in shock.

“You are an idiot, you know that? The baby is a _Pureblood_ and he has barely any connection to the Force. She’s sending him away to save his _life_. Gah, you are impossible!”

Quinn was speechless for a time. He couldn’t imagine what Morda had been going through and he suddenly felt very petty and insignificant. “I apologize,” he said, his voice barely a hush.

“Yeah, well, you’d better.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally Quinn said, “So much for not causing a scene.”

Vette smirked. “Just a lover’s spat. That’s all it looks like.” Then she grew serious. “I need to go. Don’t follow me.”

She got on her speeder and took off. Quinn waited until she was out of sight and then followed her anyway.

00o00

He found a place near some supply crates on an upper level balcony where he could watch the goings on in the hanger. The Twi’lek smuggler was here, milling about next to a wreck of a ship that looked like it was being held together with nothing but tape and some wires. Her companion sat on the ship’s gangplank with a blaster laid across his lap. Vette paced by the hanger entrance. She had made a holocall earlier to Morda and now she waited.

Quinn was getting a cramp from craning his neck trying to see Vette when Morda appeared. She looked the same as he remembered her, statuesque and proud, dressed in black with a cape that billowed behind her like a shadow. She carried both her lightsabers at her hip. The only incongruence in this whole scene was the baby that she cradled against her shoulder. He was surprised to see that Pierce was not present.

The smuggler stiffened when she spotted Lord Morda approaching, and her companion got up and stood next to her, looking nervous and on high alert. Vette ran to meet Morda, nodding to her and then falling into step just behind her. The two groups met in the middle of the hanger. Quinn was frustrated. He couldn’t hear their words at this distance, but he watched them exchange some awkward pleasantries and then Morda handed the smuggler a credit stick. The smuggler tapped it against her holopad and studied the read-out a moment before nodding. Then she turned away and wandered off, leaving Morda and Vette alone.

Quinn didn’t understand what was happening at first, but then he realized that this was Morda’s chosen time to say goodbye. He felt self-conscious and uncomfortably voyeuristic witnessing such a thing. Morda tucked a small object, perhaps a toy, into the baby’s wrapped blanket and then stared at him in silence for a long while. Vette stood nearby, pretending to be interested in her surroundings. At last Morda kissed the top of the baby’s head and then walked back towards the ship.

The smuggler approached and for a moment the two women just looked at each other. Vette lightly touched Morda’s arm and said something. Morda clutched the baby to her chest and Quinn thought that she was about to change her mind and dash from the room, but after an awkward silence, she handed the baby over. The smuggler took the child and then immediately gave it over to her companion, turning back to take a bag from Vette’s outstretched hand. Morda backed away slowly, then turned to walk stiffly back through the hanger. Vette raced to keep up with her, and reached out a hand to touch her on the arm, but Morda flinched and pushed her away.

The smuggler went back to the gangplank and stood there a moment. She was almost directly underneath Quinn and close enough that he could make out the design on the decorative band around her forehead. Her companion held the baby with surprising gentleness and was peering curiously into the blanket.

“Captain, you’ve barely looked at him,” he said. He had an accent from some backwater planet, no doubt a Republic world.

“I don’t need to. I know what Sith look like.”

“Aw, he’s not too bad. He’s actually kind of cute…” he paused and scrunched up his face, “in a homely, sithy sort of way.”

The smuggler smiled kindly at him. “You would think that Corso.”

“Can we keep him?”

“What? No way.”

“Well…just asking.” The baby began to fuss and Corso frowned. He put the baby up against his shoulder and snuggled with it, patting the baby’s back. The baby quieted immediately.

“We’ve got an interested party already. We’ll get our turn to have a baby someday.” She walked over and kissed his cheek. “I promise.”

She disappeared up the gang plank and Corso followed after her, calling out, “I’m going to hold you to that Captain!”

Quinn backed away and crept out of the hanger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t resist giving Vector a cameo in this chapter.

Morda no longer laughed. She was quick-tempered, sometimes even hostile, and rarely engaged the crew in conversation outside of what was necessary for their missions. She no longer took Pierce to her bed either, Quinn noticed, and as far as he could tell, there appeared to be nothing between them any longer. She often retired early, but she wasn’t sleeping. Quinn could sometimes see a light on under her door when he passed by, and once he thought he heard faint sobbing, but as soon as he got close it stopped and he doubted whether he had heard it after all.

Morda was working now for the Emperor’s Hand, an enigmatic group of Sith Purebloods, and had been given the new title of the Emperor’s Wrath. As far as Quinn knew, no one had spoken directly to the Emperor in years. The few who had claimed to were the subject of skeptical rumor, rarely corroborated by anyone. Quinn did not question or delve too deeply into Sith matters, but this new development set him on edge. Darth Baras, he knew, believed the Emperor to be in some kind of exile, so deeply involved in his own personal quest for power that he was uninterested in the daily affairs of those beneath him. The Emperor’s Voice was merely a figurehead, and had been missing for years. Some said he didn’t exist at all. How then could these servants of the Hand claim to know the Emperor’s will? 

Everyone who was allied with Baras was now their enemy. Covert operations forces revealed that many heroes of the Empire that had long been thought dead -- soldiers, spies, Sith – were in fact being held on the Republic prison planet of Belsavis. Morda and her crew were here now to locate the prison cell of one Darth Ekkage, Baras’s sister, before Baras’s rescue corps could free her.

Morda moved through Belsavis like a scourge, striking down those in her path with indifference. When one of the officers at the main base refused to help her track down the whereabouts Darth Ekkage’s secret location, she snapped his neck using Force power, her eyes ablaze. She spoke to Quinn only when it was required, and grew impatient if he could not enact her orders within her preferred timeline. He quickly learned to anticipate her needs and have whatever she required ready to avoid her curt tongue and the ever present threat of violence which hung around her.

Quinn first noticed a change in Morda when they encountered a Jedi Master who was also seeking Darth Ekkage. Morda encouraged a strange and unlikely partnership with Master Timmns. Quinn suspected that Morda saw in the Jedi a new chance for conquest and corruption. They worked with the Jedi for several weeks. Timmns was a former padawan of Nomen Karr, the fallen Jedi that Morda had disgraced a year ago, and as such he was obviously wary. He had the usual self-righteous attitude of most Jedi, and thought that his command of the light side would protect him. Quinn saw the truth, however. He watched as Morda slowly crept past the Jedi’s defenses, earning the man’s begrudging trust. 

The spark of passion that Quinn had first noticed in Morda began to return. With every step closer to Timmns, she brightened and flowered anew, as if the dark seeds she planted in him only fueled the swell of her own power. Timmns was a blind, bumbling insect, flying ever closer to her web, and she was the patient predator, draining his will all while timing his eventual capture. Quinn watched the interplay between them in fascination.

They found Darth Ekkage, and together, with Morda’s blazing red lightsabers and the Jedi’s blue one matched side by side, they brought her to the moment of surrender. Timmns stopped before the killing blow and prepared to reinstate Ekkage to her stasis prison.

“No, Ekkage must die,” Morda said. Even defeated, Quinn knew that Ekkage was too powerful to be allowed to live. As usual, all Jedi were weak-minded and couldn’t do what must be done.

“I will not let you kill her,” Timmns said. Quinn cautiously drew his hand towards his blaster, for a fight was surely imminent.

“No, _I_ won’t be the one to kill her,” Morda said, and the smile that touched her lips was syrupy sweet. “You will.”

“Are you mad, Sith?” Quinn found the Jedi’s shock and disgust rather amusing. Were all Jedi really that naïve?

“Kill her, right now with your blade as she kneels before you, or I will free her.”

Timmns took an actual step backward, clear alarm washing over his face. “You must be joking. Freeing her would give Baras exactly what he wanted! You wouldn’t.”

“You think I’m bluffing? Darth Ekkage is weakened and in disgrace. Baras will be humiliated and his power-base undermined. Test me, I dare you.”

Timmns stared at her, visibly warring between horror and duty. “Setting her free could damn thousands to death…I…I can’t let that happen.”

He drew his lightsaber and the blade hummed to life. “This…this pains me,” Timmns said. He closed his eyes and his face contorted like he had swallowed a bitter fruit. “But I must do it.” He swung the blade and Darth Ekkage fell at his feet.

Timmns stepped back and bent his head. “I feel less than I was,” he said quietly. Quinn spotted the sure, telling smile on Morda’s face before she concealed it. Timmns raised his head to face her again. “You have had your way, Sith. Do we part now as friends or as enemies?”

Quinn felt the grip of his blaster warm and ready in his hand. Morda had had her fun with Timmns, and with time, perhaps he could have been turned. But they were out of time now and Timmns would not fall to the dark side so easily as that. Quinn looked to Morda, waiting for her signal, but she held out her hands instead, smiling at Master Timmns.

“We part as friends,” she said. Her voice was smooth and flowed through the air like water. “Perhaps we will meet again someday.”

“Perhaps,” Timmns said. He moved away jerkily, appearing confused, already thinking himself a lesser man. Quinn stood, astonished, as Morda let him walk away.

“My lord.” They were alone, and he could not hold himself back any longer. “Was it wise to let the Jedi live?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Quinn?” Her voice was icy cold, the brightness she had shown Timmns only moments before extinguished. She turned her back on him. “Go back to the ship. I need to be alone for a moment.”

He turned and went slowly up the steps. His thoughts travelled back to that day on Quesh, when he had pulled Morda from the rubble in the cave. He recounted, like he had a dozen times since, the soaring emotion he had felt when Morda had clung to him so tightly, like her life depended on him, like she would never let go. That memory seemed very long ago.

“Quinn.”

He turned at the top of the steps. Her face had softened, and the look in her eyes was almost apologetic.

“Master Timmns carries the root of the dark side within him now. Cultivating these things can take time, but I am patient. He will fall, like the others I have turned before him. I know it.”

Quinn nodded. He wasn’t sure he shared her confidence, but he was warmed to see it in her just the same. “As you say, my lord.”

“Wait for me if you want. I will join you shortly.”

“I will, my lord.”

00o00

The guard at the door touched his earpiece and then nodded to Quinn. "Darth Baras will see you now."

Quinn's insides felt like a weight was crushing them. He didn’t know what Baras wanted from him, but he’d not been contacted since leaving Balmorra a year ago, and so he’d started to believe that he was free to pursue his own goals. He feared it was no coincidence that Baras had summoned him a week after Morda had shaken the Sith world by taking out Darth Ekkage. Baras had already sent his other apprentice, Lord Draahg, back once more to try and assassinate Morda only days ago. Draagh had attacked the ship while it was in port from a brief stop on Hoth, and would have likely decimated what crew had been on board if Morda and hadn’t arrived just in time. Draagh had given Morda a difficult fight, but in the end Morda had thrown him from a ledge and he had surely burned in an explosion that had followed soon after.

Baras would likely be furious. He wondered if he would come out of this day alive. 

He walked down the hallway and through a door flanked by towering Imperial banners. Baras waited in front of his desk, his cold, faceless mask revealing nothing.

The door slid shut, and Quinn was lifted off his feet with no chance to take a last breath. Baras stood still and calm, his arm outstretched, appearing spotty and indistinct through Quinn’s quickly blurring vision. Quinn always prided himself on the fact that he had only been Force choked once ever in his career, and that was fifteen years ago. He had forgotten just how agonizing the feeling of suffocation was. A pressure built in his chest and then radiated outward through his limbs, filling them with something akin to liquid fire. His muscles spasmed and his ears roared. The room began to go dark. _I’m going to die here_ , he thought.

Baras released him and he fell to the floor. He sucked in repeated lungfuls of air, his chest heaving with the effort, while his eyes swam with spots. He was vaguely aware that his croaks sounded like those of a dying man. It was a long time before he finally lifted his head and dared to look around.

Baras’s voice was like slime oozing into his ears. “You failed me, Quinn. My wayward apprentice still lived, yet you knew. Now she has killed my sister, striking yet another blow against me. It’s almost enough to make me think that you have forgotten who is your master.”

Quinn struggled to stand on his shaky legs. “My lord…” At first nothing came out but a hoarse whisper, and he had to try several times to get the words to form. “I did not know what you wanted of me.”

“I want my apprentice dead.”

Panic gripped Quinn’s heart. “You want me to kill Lord Morda?”

“You are my instrument, Quinn. Plan a death for her that will not fail. Take care of it and do it soon.”

“My lord…how?” Baras was asking the impossible.

Baras took one menacing step forward. “I don’t care how you do it. Just find a way!”

“Yes,” Quinn answered, his voice shaking, “…my lord.” He bowed low, barely able to keep his balance.

He left the room in a daze. He didn’t remember hailing a taxi, or even how long he’d been standing outside in the rain in front of the Kaas City spaceport entrance once he arrived. He was tethered now, pulling a monstrous weight behind him. He would never be free of it, he realized. Darth Baras owned him. Once one owed a debt to a Sith, was it ever truly paid and forgotten? His life, his career – everything he was – was subject to Baras’s authority. Baras had pulled him out of a well of shame and given him a future. Without Baras he would be nowhere now and no one. Lord Morda, he thought bitterly, was just a stepping stone. Baras was the future of the Empire.

Morda had escaped one assassination attempt already. Quinn was close to her, in proximity and in trust, making him a likely candidate to orchestrate another. Baras knew the kind of man Quinn was: dedicated to his work, unplagued by the vices that weakened other men, and unswayed by sentiment. The mask that hid Quinn's emotions had served him well, saved his life even, when it came to dealing with unpredictable Sith tempers. He would be an ideal choice, and a clever one. Morda expected opposition from other Sith, and expected to be attacked or thrown into battle. But the quiet knife in the dark? The undetectable poison in a cup? The cleverly disguised accident? That, she would not expect, and least of all from one of her own. Quinn had been groomed for this, he realized now, his part had been already written. Now Baras was going to set him on the stage.

00o00

Quinn’s holocommunicator beeped. He turned his back on the busy pedestrian thoroughfare around him and answered it. It was Watcher Three from Imperial Intelligence, returning his call.

“Captain Quinn,” Watcher Three said. He looked like he was a fresh out of the academy. Had they always started them that young? “The Cipher agent I told you about is ready to meet you now. She has something that may fulfill your needs. She’s close by. Meet her at these coordinates.”

“I appreciate your discretion in this,” Quinn said.

“That goes without saying, Captain. We are happy to help.” The call fuzzed out.

Quinn scanned the crowd, taking a slow deliberate breath to calm his nerves. _This is the right thing to do_ , he reminded himself. Watcher Three had told him he was meeting a female Zabrak. A twinge from Quinn’s memory gave him an unpleasant jolt. There were not very many aliens in Intelligence, particularly Zabrak. He’d met a young Zabrak once, seven years ago now, who had been in training at the academy. It was an awkward and uncomfortable memory and he feared that the young student he remembered and this Cipher agent could be one and the same. Couldn’t any part of this be easy?

Seven years ago, she had caught him at a vulnerable moment, a time when he was still stinging from the reprimand at Druckenwell. Baras had given him leave to take a brief, post-graduate class at the academy, so that he could earn his certificate in field medicine. His career may have been permanently halted, but he had at least hoped to better himself in other ways. His old instructors remembered him, he had graduated with high distinction after all, but everyone danced around his shame with awkward silences, and all talk was strained. Quinn had been…dare he admit it? Lonely. It was late, he was tired, and he’d been studying for that last exam in the library for hours. How he had allowed himself to be seduced by this agent-in-training he could never guess, but it had happened, and later he had suffered shame for it. Had she done it for a dare? To test out her new skills on him? He would never know. He was not looking forward to facing her and reliving his embarrassment all over again.

He moved to the designated meeting spot. There was a bench here, but he preferred to stand. There, she was coming through the crowd now, and she was not alone. Quinn was not happy that there would be an extra witness to his humiliation. As she got closer, he could make out her coppery-red skin and dark geometric tattoos. She’d filled out a bit since he had last seen her, was more curvaceous and confident, but it was definitely her. With her was a tall man with dark hair who carried himself with the casual air of someone who was used to hobnobbing among the elite and powerful.

The Cipher agent smiled at him as she approached. Was there a sparkle in her eye? “Captain Malavai Quinn,” she said slowly, drawing out his name like she savored every syllable. “You may call me Cipher Nine, or just Cipher, if you prefer.”

Quinn gave her a curt nod. She turned and gestured to her companion. “This is Agent Vector, who has procured something that may be of interest to you.” Quinn nodded next to the man with her, and was startled to see that his eyes were entirely black. _A Joiner_?

“I understand you had some specific requirements,” Cipher said. “They weren’t easy to match. Most poisons are carefully regulated and cataloged, and some of them are very expensive. We did find something that was off the record.”

The man called Vector reached into a pocket on his cloak and pulled out a small vial. “This is Killik poison,” he said and held it out to Quinn. “We believe it will suit your needs. There are three doses.”

Cipher watched his face as he took the poison. “The Empire has had very few official dealings with the Killiks, so they have not sequenced the chemical composition of this poison. I can’t guarantee that long term though. It could be traceable if someone decided to store a sample and test for a match again at a later date.”

“It will be adequate,” Quinn said. “It is painless?”

“No poisons are completely painless, Captain Quinn.” Cipher gave him a curious look. “It acts quietly though, if that’s what you are worried about. Vector would know more.”

Vector nodded solemnly. “It works quickest when injected directly into the bloodstream,” he said. “The Killiks apply it to their blades and use it in battle. If that is not feasible, then it can be ingested instead. It has a sweet taste that you would have to compensate for, and it will take longer to work that way.”

“How long exactly?” Quinn asked.

“We would estimate a few hours rather than the usual few minutes.”

Quinn nodded. An injection seemed like the most practical method. He held the vial up and peered at it in the light. It was in a metal casing with a small window on the side. Through the clear glass the liquid swirled with a green luminescence that reminded him of the carapace of an insect. He tucked it away, trying not to shudder.

“What does it…” Did he really want to know this? He cleared his throat and started again. “How does it act in the body?”

“We have a scientific colleague,” Vector answered, “and he has explained to us that it is primarily a neurotoxic venom which attacks the nervous system, causing muscle paralysis. Subjects usually die of asphyxiation when the lungs give out, if they are not eaten first.”

Quinn quickly trained the disgust from his features at the thought of being eaten by a swarm of Killiks. How could this man stand to be around them? In his next thought, he was taken back to Baras’s office, where he had experienced strangulation himself. “I see.” Perhaps victims were not able to act like they were in pain under the effects of this venom, he thought, but he was sure that they were feeling it, or at least the terror and urgency of the lack of oxygen itself. He shook the image from his mind. “Thank you for your help, agents.”

“Certainly,” Cipher said. Her smile reached into him and tugged at the memory there. He nodded to her and looked away quickly.

Vector gave him a diplomatic bow, his black eyes empty and dark. “We are always pleased to help in the Empire’s cause.”

00o00

Once again, they were back looking for assistance from some mystic hermit, this time on Voss. The Voice of the Emperor, who had been missing for years, was here on Voss. Baras had designs on declaring himself the Voice, Quinn knew. If he and Morda succeeded in finding the true Voice, did Baras expect Quinn to report in? Someone had told him once that he would have made a good Watcher. _I didn't want to be a spy, but now here I am, a spy just the same._

The creatures on Voss were vicious and foreign, and some of the more terrifying ones had been cybernetically modified by the local inhabitants. They were set upon unexpectedly one afternoon by two of such creatures, tall monstrous things with clawed hands and spiked backs. They made a strange buzzing noise that reminded Quinn of holocomm static, which he quickly realized came from the implants buried deep into their backs. With uncommon strength, they lurched forward and charged at both Quinn and Morda. In moments, Morda’s twin sabers were burning bright in her hands, and she readied her stance for battle. She threw Quinn an urgent look, and her red irises were glowing embers among the whites of her eyes.

“Take cover, Quinn!”

He dived for a nearby boulder and readied his blaster. One of these creatures would have been a challenge for any Sith, but two was trouble. Quinn shot sprays of kolto in Morda’s direction, trying to help her keep up her strength, and took shots at the beasts whenever he could get a clean line of sight. The first creature died impaled through the throat on one of Morda’s lightsabers, but by then she was tiring and already weakened by an open wound along her thigh. She jumped for a high strike at the second animal’s head and came down hard, the impact jarring her injured leg and causing her to stumble. A giant gnarled hand swiped at her, tossing her into the air. She twisted in mid-air, trying to right herself using her acrobatic training, but her footing was not assured on landing and she bounced backwards and fell.

Quinn spun the darts on his wristband, frantically searching for a carbonite dart. He found it and shot a stream out at the creature just as it had leaned in for a snap of its powerful jaws. The carbonite was not strong enough to capture the entire creature’s form, but it did slow it down. Quinn leapt up from behind the rock and readied a shot at one of the creature’s eyes. He was a good marksman, but the animal had a huge bowed head and the eyes were hard to target. He lined up a shot and fired. The spray of blood and the creature’s uncanny roar told him he had hit his mark. It began swinging wildly, stumbling and keening in a higher pitched wail. Quinn shot a second time, but the blast hit the creature’s jaw and barely left a singe mark. Quinn tried again. This time he succeeded in taking out the other eye.

With the beast blinded, Morda was able to dance around it, easily dodging its clumsy attacks. Quinn started to breathe a little easier, but then Morda fell, gripping her leg and letting out a strangled cry. As she hit the ground, she flung out one of her lightsabers and it spun through the air in a whirling arc, slicing into the creature’s neck. The beast gurgled and slumped to the ground.

Morda slid back onto the grass, breathing hard. Quinn grabbed his bag and flipped open the top. Inside, his medpacks were neatly packed in rows, along with a few readied syringes. His fingers grazed over the adrenals and kolto shots and found one other syringe that had only recently been added. He pulled it from the bag. The filthy green liquid inside swirled in agitation, catching the light with its iridescent sheen. This would be the perfect opportunity, with him and Morda being on this strange planet, fighting unfamiliar creatures with abilities few researchers had yet studied. Who would know or be able to explain the odd effects of being injured by such monstrous beasts? He pulled the cap off the syringe and the needle glinted in the sunlight.

“Quinn…”

Through the tall grasses, he could just see Morda’s prone body. She was struggling to sit up, her voice strained from obvious pain. Quinn sprinted to her side. Her chest was heaving and her face was contorted into a grimace. She lifted her head and her eyelids slid open, her red eyes meeting his, stark and trusting.

“Gimme that stuff, whatever it is.” She tried to manage a smile, but her eyes were pleading.

_I can’t do this_ , Quinn thought. He thrust the poison into the bag like it burned him and pulled out a medical probe. He fell to his knees at her side.

“I am here my lord. This will only take a moment.” He gave her a shot of painkiller and set the probe to knitting up the slash in her leg. She had lost some blood and would be weak for a time. He watched the tightness in her features ease as the painkiller kicked in, the wrinkles across her forehead smoothing away and the creases along her eyes fading. She reached out and touched his leg, patting him clumsily on the knee.

“Yes, that’s much better…” She smiled and this time it reached her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course my lord,” Quinn said quietly.

After a moment, her eyes opened once more and she peered up at him. “Have you ever seen things like that? They must have enhanced hearing to have known we were in the area and gotten to us so quickly. I wonder if the Empire could use some--”

“Be still, my lord, please,” Quinn said. She had squirmed on the ground to better see him, jerking her leg while the probe was trying to do its work. Quinn watched her bio scan output as the numbers ran in a stream across the screen. He touched her distractedly on the shoulder to still her.

She threaded her fingers through his and pulled his arm closer, closing her eyes and sighing. His hand was lying across the top of her chest now, and Quinn was very aware of the gentle waves of her breathing beneath his palm. He tried to control the sudden increase in his own breathing rate. When her fingers loosened, he gently but reluctantly withdrew his hand.

“I’ll call a transport. You shouldn’t walk on that leg for a while yet.”

On the ride back to the Imperial base, Quinn found himself casting furtive glances in Morda’s direction as she sat next to him. She was watching the passing landscape curiously, while the wind feathered through her maroon colored hair. Like many Purebloods, she wore filigreed jewelry across her forehead and attached to the bridge of her nose, and had recently added a small pierced ring to her lower lip. Today, the sun glinted from her bright gold circlet, contrasting with the smooth, deep red of her skin. She was a Sith and so far above his station that he had rarely allowed himself to think of her as anything but a distant superior. He glanced at his hands, his nails stained with the faintest traces of her blood from the wound he had tended. She was real and warm and alive next to him. He recalled how he had sat in the grass at her head, with his hand entwined with hers and pressed against her collarbone. He had watched the swell of her breasts rising and falling, and had felt that familiar stir of longing inside him once again.

_It is my job to protect her_ , he thought, _and my job to kill her._ The paradox tore at him, leaving behind an ache in the center of his chest. How could he be the one to snuff that vibrant fire out?

00o00

Quinn sat in the common area of the ship, pouring over some oversized maps that he had spread out across a table. Voss was mostly uncharted, but he had managed to acquire some survey records, as well as the crude drawings left behind by some previous researchers. The scientists had gone into an area called the Nightmare Lands, and had never returned.

On the other side of the room, Lieutenant Pierce and Lord Morda were conversing. Pierce sat in a chair, dwarfing it, with a gas grenade in his hand. Springs and bolts and bits of metal littered the table next to him. He fiddled with the canister, muttering, “ah” when it snapped audibly into place. He was in the midst of explaining to Morda what this new grenade did, and she was leaning over, watching and listening.

Quinn did not care to know, and was not really listening, but bits of conversation reached him anyway, even through his attempts to concentrate.

“Melts the lungs, they say, and they start coughing up gobs of blood…a real mess for those Pubs to clean up, ha!...the suffocation is what kills ‘em though…”

Quinn sat back in his chair, suddenly unable to not hear every gory detail of how the grenade tormented and killed its victims. What did he care how a bunch of Republic riff-raff died? He didn’t, but his thoughts began to stray to the vial of poison concealed in his medbag. He heard again Agent Vector’s words echoing loudly in his head: _…causing muscle paralysis…Subjects usually die of asphyxiation when the lungs give out…_ He peeled his damp hands from the map and rubbed them on his trousers. He took a deep breath to calm himself. _I’m over thinking this_ , he told himself. _It’s just a job._ He found himself sucking in yet another deep breath, but it wasn’t enough. The lights in the room glared off the paper and were noticeably too bright. Pierce’s voice sounded like a gong, ringing in his ears, no matter how he tried to tune it out. The room felt like it was getting hotter.

_Pathetic_ , he thought. _How many others have died at my hand? Why should this be any different? I’m losing focus…I can’t…I can’t lose focus…I can’t do it…I can’t do this…_

He lurched up from the table, accidentally banging his knee hard on one of the legs. Morda glanced up, but then her eyes strayed back to Pierce, who was laughing loudly. His voice ripped through Quinn’s head. Quinn stumbled into the refresher, locking the door behind him, and turned the water in the sink on full blast. He leaned over the sink, breathing hard, but his lungs still burned as if he were the one actually suffocating. His hands started to tingle and feel numb.

_I’m hyperventilating, that’s all. I’m not dying._ He dunked his whole head into the freezing water. The shock cleared his head a bit and when he looked up into the mirror, his cheeks were red, but the rest of his face was deathly pale. He dunked his head again, but came up sputtering and gasping for air. The room was too small, the walls too tight. He wanted air, tons of it, a storm of it, damn it a whole hurricane, that’s what he needed. Open sky, clouds or stars, just, anywhere other than on this ship. A feeling of terror crept over him. He couldn’t just leave, especially not at night. The Voss had confined all “aliens” to their own sector and it had a curfew. Leaving would cause far more notice that he needed right now.

_Trapped_ , a voice said. _You can’t leave, you can’t stop this, you can’t back out._ He sunk to the floor and held his head in his hands. _I’m going to go mad, he thought. That will be it for me. Captain Quinn, who ruined his career at Druckenwell, he lost it, did you hear? Medical hospital has him now…_

He let out a strangled laugh. Breathe, he reminded himself. He began to count, focusing on emptying his lungs completely before taking another breath. Slowly, the ringing in his ears began to fade and his gasps for air became less desperate. He pressed his forehead against the cool floor. _If only they could see me now, they’d know what a mess I really am…_

He opened his eyes. Dust and dirt specks blurred in his vision, and he was suddenly aware of how unsanitary it was to be against the refresher floor. He sat up. His head swam, but the world eventually righted itself again. His limbs were shaky and he was soaked with sweat. He looked in the mirror and tried to smooth his hair and straighten his shirt, but it was hopeless. He sighed and unlocked the door.

He slipped out and headed for the medbay. It was the longest walk across the ship he had ever taken. When he got inside, he shut the door and let out another sigh. If anyone had seen him, they had not said anything. He stripped off his shirt and climbed into the med cot he’d taken for his bed, barely taking the time to kick off his shoes. He closed his eyes.

He awoke sometime later. The lights were still on, and he was still wearing his uniform pants. He was hot, too hot, and was covered with sweat. He was vaguely aware that he’d been having some kind of disturbing dream, but the details were already gone. He sat up, throwing off the blankets and letting the air cool his skin. He stared at the med bag sitting neatly in its spot on the shelf nearby. The silence rang heavy in the room.

He slid off the cot and went to the bag. In a moment, the poison syringe was in his hand. He stood up and slapped the door panel, and was met with darkness from the common room. Everyone was asleep and it was very late. His feet carried him out of the med bay and across the ship. He found himself standing in front of the garbage chute.

He opened his hand and stared at the syringe. The vile liquid even now caught what scant light emitted from one of the dim overheads and reflected it back like the blink of an eye. He threw open the chute door and tossed the syringe in, then did not hesitate as he flicked the nearby wall switch and heard the soft woosh as the garbage was vented into space.

He went to a nearby window and looked out. The syringe was too small to see, but he imagined it floating away into the void of infinite space, where it would likely languish forever. He breathed a deep sigh.

He turned and headed back to his room.

“What are you doing up, Captain Quinn?” A shadow in the hallway took a step forward, and Jaesa appeared. Her voice was laced with barely disguised mirth, and she leaned against a wall, cocking her hip as her eyes roved boldly down his body.

Quinn was suddenly very conscious that he was naked from the torso up. Jaesa was frequently away on missions, but he’d taken care to avoid her, not only because something about her made him decidedly uncomfortable, but also because he needed to be wary of her unusual Force power. If she chose to work her special sight on him, she would surely see the designs he had on Morda and then it would be all over.

“I’m returning to bed,” he said. “I was just a bit overheated.”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was like the slow drip of honey. “You were too hot. Do you have that problem often?”

“Goodnight Jaesa.” Quinn stepped quickly past her and made for the medbay.

“I wish Morda would let me play with you sometime,” she said in a frustrated whine. “We could have so much _fun._ ”

Quinn locked the door quickly behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

While Morda was engaged in a conversation with a rather gregarious Voss, Quinn decided that this was a good time to slip away. He walked around the corner and into a pretty courtyard, where benches had been set in a semi-circle surrounded by carefully tended flowers. A recently added public holoterminal was wedged against a stone wall, looking out of place. Someone had moved an urn to accommodate for its bulk, making the courtyard’s decorative landscaping no longer symmetrical. A Voss sat on a bench in front of an easel, painting a portrait of one of the sculpted trees. Quinn wandered over to the holoterminal and punched in the frequency.

The image of Darth Baras wavered in the air.

“Quinn,” Baras said. “It’s about time you saw fit to call me.”

“My lord,” Quinn said, bending ever so slightly at the waist, “I had to find an opportune time to return your call.”

“Why is my apprentice still breathing?”

Quinn stilled his features to passivity. “Following your command has proven more challenging than I anticipated.”

Baras’s voice took on an edge that made Quinn’s hackles rise. “My master tactician can’t come up with a way to eliminate a target right under his nose? You disappoint me, Quinn.”

“It…It will be done, my lord.”

“Perhaps you need some incentive. How is your mother? Still living on the outskirts of Kaas City? I could pay her a visit.”

“My lord, I assure you--” Quinn’s next words were cut off as his throat closed up tight and he struggled to breathe. He had seen Darth Baras kill a man by Force choking him from half a galaxy away through holocall, so he was under no illusions that he was protected here on Voss. He tugged at his collar and took short gasps for air. The Voss who was painting nearby looked up and stared at him curiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two chatting Imperials start into the courtyard, but they turned away abruptly, casting their eyes discretely in another direction when they spotted him in front of the terminal.

“I grow impatient,” Baras said. “There is an abandoned starship in orbit over Corellia. Use that as a staging ground if you need one, and you won’t even have to worry about disposing of the body. I can’t make this any easier for you Quinn. Do not fail me.”

The squeezing around his throat eased and Quinn heaved a welcome breath of air. “Of course, my lord, but--”

The holocall ended and Darth Baras’s likeness disappeared. Quinn stared at the empty space for a moment, then sunk down onto a bench. He waited for his heart to slow and his breathing to return to normal. There was no escaping this. He had to think of his career, and of his commitment to seeing through Baras’s orders. It was not his place to get in between the machinations of Sith infighting. He had a job to do. He repeated these words to himself as he left the courtyard.

00o00

The lights on the abandoned starship flickered fitfully, creating annoying shadows across the data terminal, and Quinn sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had had to do a bit of verbal gymnastics in order to get on this starship alone without incurring Morda’s suspicion. He was equally proud as well as disturbed by how easy it had been to pull off the deception. He was good at this, he realized. A lifetime spent burying his true feelings from Sith had made him rather adept at lying. _What an accomplishment_ , he thought sourly.

Beside him, two large war droids pointed their empty blaster barrels into the air. They were three models behind the current versions, and when Quinn had found them some of the parts had been missing. He had recharged their assault batteries, but every time he ran tests to measure their fire power, the results came out well below their maximum range. He could order new parts -- this terminal still worked and could send and receive messages -- but he couldn’t do it without giving an authorization code and an account number. Getting these things would take time, required planning, and would increase his risk of getting caught.

He knew Morda’s prowess in battle and had spent hours running probabilities matching her skills against the droids’. At maximum power, the droids would easily break through even a Sith’s enhanced defenses. But at the power they were operating under now… _Baras has pushed me onto a time frame_ , he thought. _He told me to use what was here on this ship. I’m following instructions._ And if the droids were underpowered and Morda by chance lived through their attack? It would be a completely understandable mistake.

Would Baras buy it?

Quinn threw his head into his hands. No, Baras would see right through his deception. He was too perfect, too responsible to make such a mistake and Baras would know it.

_I can’t live like this._

Quinn thought of his mother, who had been so proud when she heard that he had been assigned off Balmorra and to a well thought of Sith Lord. He pictured Imperial troops bursting into his childhood home and dragging her out into the street, while she insisted that there must be some mistake. He saw her convulsing under Darth Baras’s Sith lightning.

He slammed his fists down onto the console and jumped up from his chair. He began to pace the dark, flickering hallway, feeling that familiar crushing in his chest like a giant fist squeezing his insides until they threatened to pop. He stopped and began to breathe slowly, but soon his hands were curling into fists again, and he whirled around and pounded them against the nearby wall.

He saw Lord Morda in his mind and for a moment he could feel her wrapped around him again, like she had been in the cavern, so soft and alive, and pressed so close against him that he could feel the tremble in her arms as she gripped him tight. He thought of the way she sought him more and more often, asking his opinion on matters and choosing him over any other crew member when it came to going planet-side. He remembered the feel of her breath tickling his ear, the way her hand had trailed down the front of his uniform, the way she had pressed herself against him, promising more. If only he had accepted. He had gone to such heroic lengths to keep himself from getting involved, and yet…it had all been for nothing hadn’t it? He had fallen anyway.

He was in love with her, desperately, hopelessly so.

_My life is a wreck and there’s no salvaging it_ , he thought. He went back to the terminal and inserted a microchip into one of the slots in the wall unit. His hands flew across the keyboard as he implanted the new code, and as he watched the words pass by on the screen, a strange, hollow peace came over him. He made two copies, and inserted one into each droid, overriding their current command sequence and initiating a new one. The droids would kill indiscriminately now, destroying everything within their sight range. Morda had a good chance against them, but if he were lucky, his end would be fast and certain.

He walked away, his pain eased at last. He felt wonderfully, gloriously numb. It would all be over soon.

00o00

As soon as they stepped aboard, Morda knew that their information on this ship was seriously out of date. Quinn had told them the ship was an occupied vessel, but it was obviously abandoned. Morda thought this a fine turn of their luck. They could walk right in, take the emitter, and leave with little fuss. Her optimism quickly turned to apprehension however the further into the ship she and Pierce moved.

Pierce had approached her the night before, expressing apprehension over the need to steal a signal emitter from a fellow Imperial ship. Quinn had suggested this course of action, and so Morda had initially thought that Pierce’s misgivings were biased, given the obvious dislike the two men shared for each other. The sincerity of Pierce’s concern had won her over though, and she had agreed to let him come with her on the mission.

At first, the ship appeared to be little else than an empty husk filled with dust and derelict droids. This was odd, but hardly bothersome. They’d been on board for only a few minutes however, when Morda found her thoughts plagued with a creeping feeling of foreboding which she could not shake. A strange, heavy pall infested the ship’s tunnel-like corridors, and the ventilation system was on the verge of heaving its last breath. This was not a ship that had been recently abandoned.

“M’lord,” Pierce grumbled at her side, “thought Quinn said that this blockade was newly implemented. This ship doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. Why would it need an emitter to get past the blockade?”

Morda was grateful for Pierce’s comforting bulk beside her, but it bothered her that even he too, was on edge. “I agree,” she said. “Something’s wrong Pierce. Stay on your guard.”

They encountered a few droids who had not been fully powered down. The droids watched them with red eyes that flickered dimly in their sockets, and a few jerked hesitantly when they passed as if trying to obey the commands of circuitry long since dead. They reached an elevator and were met with the first real resistance they had yet encountered. The air flickered and two droids appeared from behind stealth generators, armed and activated for battle.

“M’lord, two of them!” Pierce called out. His voice was nearly drowned out in the hail of blaster fire that followed.

Morda slashed the droids into scrap heaps, stepped over their smoking wires and set the button on the elevator. She glanced at Pierce, whose stance was alert and ready beside her. “Be prepared for more resistance further in.”

A few more droids attacked them as they passed through the ship’s second level, but like the others, they were slow and clumsy, their joints clunky from disuse. At last they stopped in front of a wide door that led to the transponder station. Morda hit the entry switch, prepared for it to be locked, but it opened smoothly. There was, she realized with surprise, someone already inside.

Captain Quinn stood in the middle of the room at parade rest, watching them as they entered. His face was expressionless and empty.

“Quinn,” Morda said. “What are you doing here? How did you get here before us?”

“I took the service corridor, my lord. As I said, I know the schematics of this starship by heart. As to what I’m doing here…” He began to pace restlessly. “It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law and no special signal emitter.”

“What are you talking about?” Morda searched his eyes, his demeanor, and saw nothing but calculation and indifference there. He could have been any of the faceless droids they had seen throughout the ship and just as mindlessly determined. She reached out a tendril of Force power and touched his mind, where she was met with a barrier as hard as it was cold. With a spike of Force power, she pushed harder, and for a moment a crack opened up before her. A roiling turmoil so bitter and dark lashed out at her in barely controlled chaos, and Morda pulled back quickly before it could suck her in.

“Darth Baras had me lure you here to have you killed,” Quinn said. His voice betrayed none of the agitation that he hid so adeptly. An itch tickled Morda’s palms, where they longed to feel the humming power of her lightsabers, but she resisted. Quinn met her gaze with eyes of ice. “Baras is my true master,” he said, and his words fell from the air like stones, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

“Knew there was a reason I wanted to put a gun to his head the minute I met him,” Pierce growled. He hefted his rifle for a shot. Morda held him back with a subtle flick of her wrist.

“Steady, Lieutenant. Not yet.” He frowned, but lowered the weapon.

Quinn smirked and gave Pierce a look dripping with such malice that Morda felt her breath catch and her heart pick up speed. Had she ever seen such rawness, such vehemence, in him?

“Pierce,” Quinn said, and his voice was low with smug satisfaction, “Baras asked me if you’d be a valuable asset. I told him you were physically capable, but not worth the trouble.”

Pierce laughed, but there was nervousness there as well as contempt. “Like I would ever join you!”

“Quinn,” Morda said. “If you stand with Baras, you stand against the Emperor himself. You know this. Think about what you are doing.”

He turned his gaze back on her and his look, for a fleeting moment, was sad. “The Emperor is an absentee landlord. Baras is doing what any real patriot would do.” Morda sensed a lack of conviction in his tone. Did he believe what he was saying?

“I’m sorry it’s come to this my lord.” For the first time she saw a hint of empathy in his eyes. “I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But Baras has forced my hand, and I must side with him.”

He turned and gestured at a door behind him. It slid open and two large war droids moved in on spidery legs, their oversized blasters trained on her.

“After all this time observing you in battle,” Quinn said, “I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses. I have painstakingly programmed these droids specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure.”

“You are overconfident,” Morda said. “You should know by now that I can’t be defeated.”

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, my lord. You must face this fight alone.” He pulled out a neural inhibitor gun and pointed it at Pierce. Pierce’s hands flew to his head, and before Morda had a chance to act, he collapsed on the floor at her side.

Morda drew her lightsabers just at the droids fired their first volley, and managed to block the incoming bolts in a spray of sparks. She leapt forward, her mind clearing, her focus and rage building, and time seemed to slow. She saw Quinn beside her, and spun to stare down the barrel of his blaster. The vivid image of his face, determined, startled and fierce, filled her vision, and for a moment his eyes, wide and so very blue, met hers. In that fleeting moment, she noticed the faintest tremble of his hand. It was all the sign she needed.

She threw out a jolt of Force power, knocking the blaster from his grip and sending him sailing backwards across the floor. The droids engaged her again, doling out electric stun shocks as well as laser fire. She was a fighter, a dancer, a whirling burst of blades and Force power and might. The droids, she realized, were weakened by age and perhaps even faulty. Their blasts were dim and ragged, and she was a hair faster, cleaner in her blows, more precise in her movements. She dismantled the first until it lay in embattled pierces on the floor, and focused her energy on the second. It too, began to fall apart as she pressed it hard, eventually driving it into defensive mode. With a final cut of her glowing blades, accompanied by a triumphant yell, she sent its head sailing across the room. The droids sparked fitfully as she stood panting, the sweat cooling over her skin.

Quinn was kneeling on the floor nearby. His face was calm, serene even, waiting for his inevitable death. Still jacked up by her rage, Force power buzzing inside her and eager for an outlet, Morda swung out her hand, lifting Quinn into the air. She threw him against the wall, where he smacked hard into the unyielding metal, his limbs falling out around him. He dropped onto the floor and she picked him up again. Her vision was awash with red. She began to squeeze the life out of him, watching as he dangled helplessly, managing a barely strangled gasp. He face turned pale, and then faded to blue, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

_I’m killing him_ , Morda realized. With a jerk of her hand, she dropped him, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

She sat down, crossing her legs, and felt her power and rage slowly dissipate. Beside her, Pierce stirred and moaned. He sat up, rubbing his head and squinting.

“Is he dead?”

“No,” Morda said. “Go back to the ship.”

“M’Lord, are you sure?”

“Don’t question me, Lieutenant.” He waited a moment, as if hoping she’d change her mind, and then she heard the thudding of his boots as he left the room.

Quinn lay crumpled on the floor, his chest faintly rising and falling. His uniform was torn at the neckline from where he had uselessly tried to pry away the invisible hands of her Force choke, and his pressed trousers were smudged with dust. His fingers twitched involuntarily a few times and then stilled. How long had Baras had a hold on him? She had sorely underestimated Quinn, in so many ways.

At last, he stirred. He blinked lazily at the ceiling, not moving, but his breathing was uneven and he took repeated gasps for air, as if only remembering now how to breathe. It was a long time before he even realized she was there.

“My lord!” His voice was a croak. He struggled to sit up, looking baffled and disoriented.

“That was a brilliant plan, Quinn,” Morda said. “I suspected nothing. Your execution however, was dismal.”

He stared at her, nervously passing his tongue across his lips, saying nothing.

She shot out a blast of Force energy, striking deep into his mind while he lay weak and unprepared before her, and like she suspected, she was able to burrow through easily. She was assaulted once again by the storm of dissonance inside him, and she rifled curiously through all the emotions he had long sought to hide. Self-hatred was there, so intense and black that it had almost snuffed out everything else, and cocooned further in was a tightly bound coil of fury and resentment. Buried also she felt the presence of pride, of courage, and a stubborn dignity. She pushed deeper, and Quinn’s fingers curled into the metal grooves of the floor, his knuckles turning white. She had made no effort to disguise her presence in his mind, and no doubt he felt the effects of her rummaging around. Within the farthest recesses of his psyche she saw an ember that burned and ate away at him. She touched it and found the core of him revealed.

She withdrew, ripping a gasp from Quinn’s throat, and he dropped his forehead against the floor, his eyes closed tight.

“You wallow in pain,” Morda said. “That pain is a feast that you could have devoured long ago, but instead you let it devour you.”

She stood and walked over to him, bending to grab him roughly by the front of his uniform. She used Force power to hoist him to his feet. She brought his face close to hers. “Why did you do it?”

His eyes flitted back and forth and he sucked in an unsteady breath. “I acted today with a heavy heart,” he said. “But I owe Baras everything. I had to follow as duty bade me. I…I had to.”

“You say Baras is your master, but it is not to him that you are bound. You live in a cage of your own making, Quinn, and it is fear…yes, fear… I can _feel_ it…that is your jailer.”

He stared into her eyes, and she saw openness there, and surrender, offered willingly. He was still waiting for death, she realized, still expecting the final blow.

“I’m not going to kill you.” She let him go and stepped back.

“My lord.” He released a breath and blinked at her. “Baras would never forgive such a failure. I have betrayed you…Conspired with your most hated enemy.” He dropped roughly to his knees. “I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I never expected your mercy.”

“I don’t need your groveling,” Morda said. “Get up.”

He got unsteadily to his feet and bowed his head.

“Druckenwell broke something inside you, didn’t it?” At the mention of that name his head snapped up again and his face shuttered closed. There was nothing left for him to hide from her now. Morda had seen it for herself. “You are ruled by fear,” she said. “Fear of disobeying, fear of failure, fear of losing those dreams you had once again, maybe this time forever.” She took a step closer, breathing in that fear along with his guilt, his shame, and interestingly, underneath it all, his hidden desire. The terrifying coldness she had seen in him earlier still sent a shiver down her spine. He had channeled his anger then, not in the hot, burning way of a Sith, but with a controlled, directed ferocity. She caught his head roughly in her hands.

“You were never so beautiful as you were when you tried to defy me,” she whispered. She pulled him towards her and kissed him.

He was pliant and warm, and he yielded to her kiss. She pulled back and touched a hand to his cheek, caressing it slowly, and with surprising gentleness. His eyes flickered across her face and his breathing turned ragged.

“You have turned all your anger and defiance towards the wrong Sith,” she said. “You must cut that fear out of your heart, and turn your anger towards Baras instead. He has wronged you. He has wronged both of us. We could have accomplished so much together…” She closed her eyes and sighed. Could this be a turning point? She opened her eyes again and looked at him, her voice a mere breath of air. “…We still can.”

“My lord,” Quinn said. He sounded hoarse and his words caught in his throat. He swallowed. “My loyalty and dedication are yours.” The barrier around him fell, and Morda felt a surety radiate outward from him, an openness that came from the soul. “I am yours,” he whispered.

Morda felt a smile forming on her lips. “Yes,” she said. “Now you are well and truly mine.” _At long last_. “Come back to the ship. We will say nothing of this to anyone else.”

She turned and walked away, hearing his footfalls move into place behind her.

00o00

Quinn floated like a ghost across the ship’s main room and into the medbay. Everything was just as he had left it: his medbag tucked neatly on a shelf, his holopad sitting on the desk in front of his chair, aligned neatly with the edge of the table, and a comb next to it, the last thing he had used before stepping out of this room for what he had thought would be the last time. It was barely an hour ago, yet it seemed a lifetime. He looked around the room. It was stark and no one could call it homey, but its familiarity felt both comforting and strange to him now. He had left this room a condemned man. Now he stood here again, but he was not the same. He sat on the edge of his cot and stared at his hands.

He replayed the scene at the transponder station over and over again in his head. His throat still ached from where Morda had choked him, but he remembered little of that. He recalled instead the cold, hard floor against his cheek and that moment when he had realized that he was not alone. He had expected anger and condemnation. He had never expected her forgiveness, and least of all, her offer to make him an ally. He recalled the way she had kissed him, hopeful and slow.

_We could have accomplished so much together…we still can._ Her words resounded in his ears.

He stood up and paced the room, feeling confused and lost. _Why have I been granted this gift? What will happen now?_

He pulled off his clothes and tossed them to the floor, watching as his starched and ironed uniform fell into a messy heap. His chains to Baras had been broken. He would never again question where his duty lay. Things were going to be different from now on. He climbed into the cot and fell immediately into an exhausted and dreamless slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _RL has been a bear lately, so I'll still be posting new chapters on Sundays, but it probably won't be every Sunday._

Corellia’s manicured, sculpture-lined streets were pockmarked with craters and made hazy by plumes of smoke that billowed up from the husks of buildings. Morda found herself agreeing with Jaesa when she had first set eyes on the extent of the destruction. Jaesa had called it beautiful, and it was in its own way. It was a sign of the sheer might and reach of the Empire that a once glorious city could be brought so low. The Corellians thought themselves safe and protected in their bubble of refinement, but their soldiers bled just like everyone else’s, their buildings crumbled into the same unsightly rubble, their ideals were just meaningless words.

The section of the city that Morda was in now had seen particular devastation and was unsafe for even traveling by speeder. Morda and Quinn picked their way through the cracked streets, past collapsed tram stations and alongside the tall, empty eyes of windowless skyscrapers. Distant explosions still vibrated in the air from the occasional aerial assault. Quinn followed silently behind Morda, stepping up quickly to her side to take hold of her arm and right her from falling when a piece of pavement broke away under her foot. He had been unusually diligent since the incident on the transponder ship, and she had to admit that she actually enjoyed his increased attention.

She stopped at the lip of a large crater which had cut a hole into the street, making further passage difficult. She heard Quinn’s footsteps approaching and saw him from the corner of her eye as he came to stand at her side. Even after what had happened in the transponder station, Morda found that she had not been able to keep her anger kindled at him for long. She was alarmed at how well Quinn had pulled off his deception but begrudgingly she respected him for it. He would never be able to best her in a duel with a blade, but he was a more adept player in this game than she had ever imagined. A worthy opponent with that degree of skill should never be made into an enemy. Would she have ever thought such a thing of a Force-blind? He was no Sith, but he had stood toe to toe with her and faced down his own death with courage. She suspected – and this was a hard truth to admit – that he could have killed her in any number of clever ways at any time. He may have even succeeded too. But he had chosen to give her a warrior’s battle, an honorable fight, and when she had looked into his eyes in those frantic first moments, she had not seen hatred there, or derision, or mockery, like she had seen in so many other opponents. She had seen resignation. He had entered that room never expecting to leave it alive. It was the choice of a man who felt cornered and desperate.

Quinn had tied his himself mistakenly to Baras, but Morda had felt the lie within him. Quinn hated Baras. If Quinn had been born a Sith, he would have been a natural leader. He was proud and reveled in what little authority he was given. As a Sith, he would have drawn strength from that power, and he would have inspired similar passion and dedication in others. Instead he was Force-blind, and virtually invisible in the eyes of the elite Sith he served. How many times had Morda taken him for granted herself? She had seen him as an object to be possessed and enjoyed, and it had taken him being turned against her before she had realized his true worth.

_He teeters on the brink of being a broken man_ , she thought. It would be so easy, too easy really, for her to snap the tenuous link that held him together and remake him into something of her choosing. Pierce didn’t understand why she had spared Quinn and had even dared to argue with her over it, but he couldn’t see what Morda saw. Quinn’s loyalty would never come into question again. He was bound to her with shackles stronger than any slave collar, and she suspected that if she asked it of him, he would give everything he had without hesitation. She trusted Quinn now more than any other member of her crew. The thought was a strange one indeed.

She looked at him now as if seeing him for the first time. He was angry, resentful, and had lived a life of self-denial that rivaled that of any ascetic Jedi. _I will not give up on him_ , she decided.

He still desired her. She had felt it in him when she had reached into his head. He kept it carefully coiled, but just brushing her mind against it had been like a fiery touch that sent pangs of painful longing through her. He was the most challenging prospect she had ever attempted to reach, but the pay-off would be grand. If only he could harness all that turmoil and pain within him. He would be a formidable force. Maybe she could free him at last from these chains. Was it worth another try?

His eyes reached hers and he nodded cautiously. “My lord?”

“We’ll have to pick our way around this. Let’s go.”

They followed the edge of the crater, pressing themselves against the wall of a crumbling building. Ahead was a storefront whose windows had been blown out, and as Morda drew closer, she heard a snap from under her boot like that of a twig breaking. She lifted her foot and saw a tiny toy spaceship. It was missing a wing, but reminded her immediately of the toy Pierce had given to Mordius, and which she had tucked into the baby’s blanket before handing him over to the smuggler at the spaceport. Morda looked around what remained of the shop. It was mostly unrecognizable rubble now, but she spotted a rack of toy blasters still intact, and a stuffed green Twi’lek Jedi doll.

A huge crack in the street ran in front of the shop, stopping at the corner where the street met another, even wider thoroughfare. The shop was on the corner and Morda could see right through the smashed walls to the other side of the street. She began to trudge through the rubble so she could pass through the store and to the other side.

“I used to have some of these,” she heard Quinn say from behind her.

Morda turned to see him holding a small package with a toy soldier inside. He turned it back and forth in the light. “I had three whole armies actually.”

Morda came and stood beside him. “I can imagine you as a kid playing with a toy army.”

He looked up, his eyes bright. “These were more than toys, my lord. They were part of whole sets, and we’d paint them and then set them up against other people’s armies in huge tabletop games.”

“Oh, you mean like Holobattle Heros?”

“No! Well, yes sort of. But these were far better. You could completely customize them, and there’s nothing like being able to hold the real thing, rather than a holo image. It’s becoming a lost art, I fear.”

Quinn stared at the soldier, his gaze wistful and a bit sad. For those brief few moments, Morda had heard more passion in his voice than he had expressed in a very long while. She tried to imagine him as an idealistic boy, so eager to test his skills and talents on the real world. When had it been beaten out of him? He set the soldier down gently on top of a pillar of rubble. As he walked away, Morda made to follow him, but then turned back abruptly, scooping up the package and shoving it into her cloak pocket.

She headed for the blasted out wall on the opposite side of the shop. Her foot kicked a small colorful ball and sent it bouncing across the floor, leaving a trail in the dust. She picked it up.

“Hey Quinn!”

He turned, and she threw the ball at him fast. He jumped back, his arm flying out instinctively. The ball bounced off his palm but he caught it on the rebound before it hit the ground. 

“Nice catch,” Morda said.

“Almost took my head off, my lord.” Quinn’s tone was reprimanding, but there was a faint smile there behind his eyes.

“Just testing your reflexes, Captain.”

Another broken toy spaceship lay at her feet. This one had a tiny astromech droid fitted into a compartment on the top, and a pilot stuffed inside the cockpit. Morda popped open the front and the pilot fell out.

Quinn came over and stood next to her. “I’m amazed that so much of this inventory is still intact.”

Morda tried to put the pilot back inside, but he wouldn’t fit now. She growled and shoved him in, but his head broke off and landed among the ash-strewn floor. She sighed.

“I never told you why I went away for all those months,” she said. A heaviness was sinking in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“There’s no need to, my lord,” Quinn said quietly.

Morda ploughed ahead, ignoring him. “I left to give birth to my son.” She cast a look in Quinn’s direction. He was staring at the floor, his face carefully blank. She knew that look on him by now. It was meant to be disinterested and neutral, but in fact it meant that he had something he was trying very hard to hide. Was he judgmental of her?

“It was Pierce’s baby, as you can probably guess. He was a beautiful Pureblood. Beautiful, but…flawed. He was barely Force-sensitive. I had to send him away. I don’t know where he is anymore. To my family he is dead.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Quinn said.

“I just wanted you to know that I didn’t leave without good reason.”

“Your reasons are your own, my lord. I never questioned you.”

“Thank you, Quinn.” Morda kicked aside a block of crumbling wall and stepped back out into the street. She turned but Quinn was not behind her. He was standing still in the shadows of the shop, looking uncertain. He finally came forward and then stopped in front of her.

“My lord,” he said. “I have a confession to make.”

“Yes?”

“I followed you to Nar Shaddaa. I found out about...your son.”

“You followed me? You knew? Why?”

Quinn straightened his back and stood stiffly, meeting her gaze.

“I tracked Pierce when he left Quesh and realized that you must have sent for him. I was eager for news, for new orders, for…for anything really.” He looked away for a moment, casting his eyes down to his feet. “I was…I was jealous, my lord. That you sent for Pierce and not for me.” He looked up again, with obvious difficulty. “I’m sorry. I soon realized my mistake. I’ve been mistaken about you on many things it seems.”

“You never cease to surprise me.” Morda’s voice was gentle. There was a pause and then she broke into a smile. “You were jealous? Really? Of Pierce?”

Quinn blushed and looked away. “Forgive me.” 

“Forgiven,” Morda said. “You have no reason to be jealous now. Pierce is a good soldier, but there is nothing more between us.”

Quinn nodded, saying nothing. He paused and appeared to be gathering his thoughts, “There’s something else I should say, my lord.”

“Go on.”

“I was wrong about you. I’ve seen you show mercy so many times to your fallen foes, and I didn’t always understand your motives or the wisdom behind your choice.”

Morda nodded, encouraging him to continue. He swallowed and took a breath. “I never dreamed that I would one day find myself in their place. I understand now. I owe you a powerful debt, and I am most grateful that you have given me another opportunity to prove myself.”

“I would never throw away someone as skilled as you, Quinn. I took you for granted and I regret that now. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You have been more than generous, my lord.”

They walked beside each other, saying nothing for a time. Another pit in the ground slowed them up and Quinn stepped ahead, offering Morda his hand. Morda didn’t need such assistance, but she took his hand anyway, enjoying the feel of his dusty palm against hers. When she crossed to the other side, she tightened her grip and stopped him from walking away.

“My offer still stands, you know.”

Quinn hesitated, but Morda felt the change in the air, a heavy anticipation, both hopeful and full of trepidation. “And what offer is that?” Quinn’s voice was low and quiet.

Morda stepped close. “I still want you,” she said. “You are the only one I have ever really wanted. You know that, don’t you?”

Quinn’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is that so, my lord?”

“My bedroom door is always open.” Morda waited for the refusal, but none came.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said instead.

00o00

“Be safe, Malavai.” Quinn’s mother took his head in her hands and gave him an unexpected kiss on the forehead.

“I will do what I can,” Quinn answered. “The important thing is that you are safe. Do you have everything you need?” He looked around the cottage, which still lingered with the musty scent of long disuse. He had vacationed here with his family when he was a child. How much smaller and overgrown the place looked now. He hoped his mother would be safe here, and well hidden from Baras and his spies.

“The droid will get me anything I need,” his mother answered. “I won’t even need to leave the house. Although I plan to tidy up the garden out there. I’ve got to have something to keep me busy, you know.”

“I can’t tell you how long you’ll need to stay here, but I will be in touch when I can.”

“I know.”

“If you do go out, take the HK unit with you. You must never been seen alone.” Morda had gone to great lengths to acquire a rare and expensive Hunter-Killer assassin droid, and Quinn had been stunned when she had offered to loan it to him for use as his mother’s temporary body guard. The offer had been surprisingly generous.

Quinn turned to the droid, which was standing nearby. “You will allow no one on these premises, sentient or beast, that is not on the accepted list. Do not hesitate to take action.”

“Acknowledgment,” the droid answered. “All troublemakers will be deleted.”

Quinn nodded to his mother. “I should go then.” He had checked the perimeter sensors, had helped stock the food stores, and had left her a supply of back-up power cells. He had done all he could. She also had the company now of two droids, a basic medical unit and the HK assassin. It would have to be enough.

He got in the rented land cruiser and gave his mother one last wave. He hated leaving her without human company, but a person could be bribed, so he had been forced to cut the maid’s services until further notice. The droids were safer.

He sped away, glancing back once in the mirror to see his mother’s small frame turn and disappear into the cottage. As he rode through the jungle, he listened to the comm chatter from the planet’s military frequency. It was filled with the usual: troops movements sent to quell the latest slave rebellion outside Kaas City, requests for more med supplies to the remote jungle outposts, coded references to various operations throughout the area. His old authorization code still worked from his days on Balmorra, so he monitored an encrypted frequency next. It was an officer’s channel, used mostly by space captains, and from down on the planet’s surface the static was considerable. He couldn’t decipher much, since many of the signals needed to be run through a translation program before the real message was revealed. He was just about to shut it off when he heard the unmistakable sound of a distress call. He waited to see if another ship was going to respond, but the interference was too great.

When he arrived at the spaceport, he found a quiet seat in the lounge and checked the transit schedule. His flight to Vaiken spacedock was delayed - again. He returned to monitoring the encrypted channel. He had not expected to learn much by this, but this time he recognized the signal as coming from a ship belonging to Moff Broysc’s fleet.

He sat back in his chair, the comm unit dropping into his lap. If the Moff disappeared into a black hole, he wouldn’t have been happier. But this call was from Major Ovech, one of Broysc’s commanders and a man that Quinn knew and respected. His thoughts raced, weighing his options and responsibilities. A moment later he made his decision and called Lord Morda.

00o00

Morda strode across the hangar of the Imperial Dreadnaught _The Red Wingmaw_. A soldier hurried to meet her, clearly agitated. He started speaking as soon as he came within hearing range, his voice quavering with either fear or indignation, Morda wasn’t sure which.

“My lord, to what do we owe this visit?”

Morda pushed past him, not even bothering to meet his eye. “I am the Emperor’s Wrath. My reasons are not your concern. Is this ship battle ready? I want to see the armaments and ship’s manifest.”

The soldier raced to catch up with her. “Yes...of...of course. Right this way, my lord.”

Morda wasn’t really interested in the details of this battleship’s operations. Her goal was to distract the crew and buy time for Quinn to slip out of the hangar and find his way to the bridge. According to Quinn, Major Ovech and a contingent of his men were trapped on a Republic secret weapons warehouse, surrounded and in danger of being overrun. There were plenty of troops ready and waiting to assist the Major on his ship, but Moff Broysc had overridden the major’s request for back-up. He was cutting Ovech and his men loose and calling it a loss; anything rather than risk public embarrassment for a raid gone wrong. The ship was under lock-down and Quinn planned to break into the control room and issue new orders. It was a bold move, and Morda approved.

Morda was growing weary of feigning interest in whatever this nervous soldier was saying when Quinn’s call finally came through on her earpiece.

_I’m in, my lord and the door is unlocked._

Morda turned to the soldier, interrupting him. “Take me to the bridge.”

Before she even entered the room, Morda could feel the energy and tension swirling like a thick cloud from down the hallway. It prickled across her skin, danced along her spine, and made her heart pick up pace in response. From within that emotional miasma she could easily pick out the familiar spike of anger that she now knew well. Quinn’s brand of passion was always condensed and sharp, a pulse of contained rage which awakened her own Force powers like the caress of a lover. She drank it in and felt her excitement kindle in response.

Upon reaching the bridge, Morda recognized Quinn standing at the helm. He was a cog in the center of a wheel, all the action in the room revolving around him in perfect and defined order. He doled out instructions while crew members jumped to enact his commands, many of them appearing more than eager to do so. Morda suspected that the Moff’s order had not been a popular one, especially if this Major Ovech was as well regarded a figure as Quinn said he was.

Quinn had his back her, his shoulders straight and his bearing assured. How long had he been here? A few minutes at most, yet he had clearly taken over command of the ship. He was in his element here. To Morda’s Force-sensitive sight he shone like a beacon, and she was instantly taken back in time to their first meeting that day on Balmorra. He was towering now over some commander, who knelt at his feet, eyes ablaze and his look defiant, even though he was already cuffed and detained. They were midway in conversation when she walked in.

“By whose authority do you think you can countermand the order of a moff?” The man’s tone was disrespectful and overly confident.

“Moff Broysc has made an error in judgment that has now been overridden. I will not stand idly by while he sentences some of the Empire’s finest soldiers to death. Your judgment is in question as well if you cast your lot with the Moff.”

Morda approached and a few eyes swung in her direction as she passed. “The Captain acts on my authority,” she declared. The commander’s head snapped in her direction and he scowled, wisely holding his tongue. “Feel free to eliminate this man if he is causing you trouble, Captain.”

Quinn acknowledged her arrival with a nod. “That won’t be necessary, my lord.” He gestured at two other soldiers who were standing at attention nearby. “Take the commander to the brig to be dealt with later.”

As the commander was led away, Morda came to stand by Quinn’s side. “What’s the status on Major Ovech and his men?”

“His commandos have been dispatched to conduct a rescue operation. I have high hopes for the mission’s success. We arrived just in time.”

“Pleased to hear it.”

“We can depart now my lord. The situation is under control.”

They walked in silence through the Red Wingmaw’s corridors until they at last reached the hangar.

Watching Quinn, seeing him so obviously at home and in his element, had awoken a new hunger in Morda. Her hands tingled with thwarted Force power and desire swept through her. She would need to release some energy with a good bout of combat practice once on the ship, she decided.

Quinn spoke up then. “Major Ovech would have been a terrible loss. Thank you for allowing me to intervene on his behalf, my lord.”

“It was the right thing to do. You will be on Moff Broysc’s radar now though.”

“Yes, I expect he will retaliate somehow.”

“Let him try,” she said. “Together we will crush him...” They reached the ship’s gangplank and Morda paused at the top. “...just as we will crush Baras when the time comes.”

Quinn’s eyes were bright and his color was high. “It has been a long time in coming, my lord. I look forward to defeating Baras at your side. I never dreamed that I would see the day when I was finally free of Baras’s yoke.”

“At least I will be able to fulfil one of your dreams.” Morda gave Quinn a reluctant smile. She started to unlock the door release.

To her surprise, Quinn reached out a hand to hold her back. Morda turned and found him standing close behind her, his body almost touching hers. He did not back away when she faced him.

“I have other dreams of you my lord.” His words came out in a rush, as if he feared losing the courage to say them. “Even still...even now.”

Morda paused. Quinn’s gaze was intent, his eyes catching the faint light. She could feel his desire like a heated wave enveloping her with longing and promise.

“Our passion could make us stronger,” she said. “You will see.”

Quinn’s hands slid around her hips and he leaned forward until his lips grazed hers with a feather-light touch.

“I am growing open to the idea, my lord.” He sealed her mouth with a kiss.

The door abruptly slid open behind Morda but Quinn saved her from an undignified fall by catching her around the waist.

“Hey, we’ve been cleared for take-off,” Vette said. “You -- uhh, am I interrupting something?”

Quinn held her gaze as Morda smiled at him. “To be continued Captain.”

00o00

Quinn stood outside Morda’s bedroom door. A faint strip of yellow light glowed along the floor, coloring the tip of his shoes, telling him that she was still awake. He ran a hand through his hair. His decision tonight could change everything between them. For good or for ill? A voice inside his head asked him how could dare to presume that any Sith, let alone the Emperor’s Wrath, could truly be interested in him. He had always taken the stance that romantic entanglements could only compromise his professionalism, but that was before he had been forced to choose between two powerful Sith. That was before he had chosen to sabotage his own survival in the hopes that Morda would somehow live through a fight meant to kill her. His feelings were already involved. How could he wrest apart the boundaries between his heart and logic now?

He knocked on the door.

After a long pause the door slid open. Morda stood before him, dressed for bedtime in a pale yellow nightgown which contrasted sharply with her ruby red skin. She stared at him, her face registering what Quinn suspected was open astonishment. Quinn cleared his throat.

“May I come in?”

Morda backed into the room, still staring. “Of course,” she said at last. Amusement passed across her features. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”

The door slid closed behind him and locked quietly. Quinn gazed about the room, taking in Morda’s wide bed with the covers drawn down and pillows splashed casually about. There was something intimate about entering such a personal space, and Quinn knew that he had irrevocably crossed a line now by coming here. He realized that he was lingering a bit too long on her bed, and he dropped his eyes away quickly, but not before flashing a glimpse in her direction. She was watching him.

“Something tells me that you didn’t come here to admire my interior decorating skills,” she said. The faintest smile touched the corners of her lips.

“You are correct, my lord.” Out of habit, Quinn began to slide into parade rest, but stopped himself, forcing his posture into a more casual stance. “There is a reason that I came to you here, and at this hour.”

Morda was watching him expectantly, and Quinn felt his courage falter. He envisioned himself casting aside all these customary social niceties to simply take her in his arms, toss her onto the disheveled bed, and cover her body with his. Morda was smiling at him, and Quinn felt heat rushing to his face at the thought that he may have inadvertently sent out his thoughts in a way that she could read them. How did one woo a Sith anyway?

“My lord,” he began, “I wanted to speak with you privately...”

“Speak to me? Is that all you came here to do?”

“Please,” Quinn said, holding up a hand. “Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” He took a breath to calm his nerves. “I know I’ve been too rigid, too inflexible, and I’ve made every effort to push you away when all I really wanted...” He dropped his arms and looked at Morda. “My lord, I’ve held back long enough. I won’t suppress my feelings and desires any longer.”

Quinn stepped forward, suddenly conscious of how little Morda was wearing. The nightgown barely covered her thighs, which were bare, and he wondered what she had on underneath. A voice in his head still reprimanded him for what he was about to do, but another force, a heady, primitive urge, told him that taking her in his arms was nothing compared to all he really longed for, and spurred him on. Her kiss from the night before had lingered endlessly in his thoughts since, and he marveled at how easily that had come compared to now. It had been dark under the ship’s overhang, and he had acted spontaneously. Since then, he had had too much time to think and plan for this moment, and now the thought of acting so boldly again filled him with trepidation.

“Permission to kiss you, my lord.”

“You never need to ask,” she murmured.

Then she was there, pressed against him, her arms sliding around his neck and her lips opening to his. He was acutely aware of the rush of desire which infused his limbs - and certain areas in particular. He broke away feeling dizzy, and looked into her eyes, seeing eagerness there, and hunger. He hesitated, unsure of how to approach the next steps. He was out of practice, he realized, and he wrestled with the need to have her at once, wanting to feel her enveloping him, needing it even, and the equally powerful desire to savor every inch of her and make it last.

She sensed his uncertainty. Was it possible to hide anything from her?

“Something holds you back still,” she said. “You look at me and you see a Sith, don’t you? To you I am a Sith before anything else.”

“My lord,” Quinn answered. He was cautious and confused. “What else could you be? There are things which divide us. It will always be so.”

She looked thoughtful. “What do you mean?” Quinn was surprised to hear a note of hurt in her voice.

“My lord, I am no Force user and I never will be. I am no Jedi to be turned, or Sith to be mentored. I don’t...” He trailed off, not knowing how to express these thoughts and unsure of where they would lead him. “I just...I just don’t want to be toyed with.” He froze, hoping that he wouldn’t regret this unexpected confession. He had never admitted such a thing in front of a Sith before. Normally, it would be tantamount to inviting the very behavior he wanted to avoid.

“You think that’s all I want you for?” Morda crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t have pursued you this long if you were just a passing fancy, Quinn. It’s true that if you were Force sensitive I would have made you my apprentice long ago.”

Quinn was surprised and found himself unexpectedly flattered. “You really think that of me?”

She clenched her fist and a look of pain passed across her face.

“Of course!” she said. ”I want you by my side, both in battle and in my bed.” Gone was the constant note of amusement in her voice, the familiar teasing tone. She touched his collar and ran a finger along the edge. “Your unspent desire...it calls to me,” she said softly. “Don’t you understand? You bring out the very things that make me alive.” She laid her hand across his chest, where his heart was beating an all too fast rhythm, and looked him in the eyes. “By the Force, Quinn, don’t keep denying me.”

“I will never deny you anything, my lord,” he whispered.

“Here in this room, I am just Morda.”

He nodded, finding it hard to swallow, and wondered if he could overcome his urge to follow protocol and address her so informally.

She walked away, towards her desk on the other side of the room, and opened a drawer. “I think I know what you need.” Her hand emerged from the drawer holding a coiled length of rope. Quinn watched her, trying to hide the sudden shadow of distrust which had fallen over him. Morda approached and held out her hand. The rope was coiled neatly in her palm.

“Take it,” she said.

He looked at her in surprise. Her smile was daring and filled with promise. He took the rope.

She held out her arms, her wrists together. “Go ahead,” she said, and she leaned close, touching her lips to his ear. “Do it. I know you’ve thought of it. I am yours to command. What do you want me to be?”

Quinn looked into her red eyes, dark now and wide. There was no duplicity there, only desire. The thought of Morda willing offering herself to him in this way, surrendering to his desires, was novel. And enticing. She was not wrong. He had indeed thought of it, in those most private hours of the night, when his body had kept him awake, aching with a need that could not be sated.

Quinn cast his eyes down at his hands, rubbing the rope with the pad of his thumb. Then he closed his fingers around one of her hands, and began coiling the rope around her wrists. He tied a swift knot, glancing at her the moment he pulled it tight. She was watching him expectantly.

“What I want is…” He stepped back a few paces, letting the long lead of the rope go slack. “I want you to be a beautiful Pureblood…” He backed away a bit further, and the rope pulled taught. “…a Sith lord…” His hand jerked the rope suddenly and she was propelled towards him, where he wrapped an arm around her waist. “…who becomes powerless against me…” His lips brushed against her ear and his knee slid between her legs, drawing her body against his. “…who trembles at my touch…” He held her tight, and realized that he could feel the increasing pound of her heart through her clothes. “…who is at my mercy in all things.”

Morda was breathless and quiet. “Then I don’t need to pretend…”

“Kiss me.”

She gave him a long, slow kiss, melding his lips with hers. When they finally parted, his breath was coming in shallow gasps.

“Do that again.”

She obeyed.

Morda then touched the fingertips of her bound hands to his chest, running them down to the edge of the belt at his waist. She met his eyes and gave him a coy smile as she slid to the floor.

Quinn weaved his fingers into her hair, feeling his grip tighten involuntarily when she undid his clothes. A moment ago he had stood on the edge of a precipice, and now he was jumping off, falling headlong into oblivion. She drew him in, hot and enticing, her tongue moving in masterful swirls until his body burned and need swept through him. He realized belatedly that he was pulling her against him, her hair held taught in his fist, but if his eagerness was too much for her she didn’t show it. In fact, she increased the fervor of her attentions, until all coherent thought left him and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift in this sea of glorious, maddening pleasure. He felt the pressure building inside him, his muscles tensing, and he knew she felt it too. She twined her fingers around him, holding him and bringing him further to the brink. He didn’t want her to stop, but surely she would be disappointed later if he allowed this to go on to its natural conclusion.

“My lord...Morda...” he managed.

She made a noise in her throat and did not stop. And then it was too late. He held his breath as ecstasy overcame him, and still Morda drank him in, craving him, her fingertips caressingly sweet and her mouth so perfect and inviting. She drew out the moment until he thought his legs would not hold him standing any longer and then finally she let go. He gasped and blinked at the ceiling, lost for a moment and unable to speak.

She sat back on her heels, rubbing her chin with the back of her hands. Quinn stumbled backwards slightly and took a moment to compose himself.

“Did I please you, my Captain?” she asked.

“Was there any doubt?”

She let out a low laugh. “I await your next order.”

How many times had he spoken to her similarly? He savored the chill which passed through him. He redressed himself and then looked down, realizing that at some point he had dropped the end of the rope and now it lay at his feet. After retrieving it, he went to her and grabbed the end where she was tied and hoisted her to her feet. He backed away and climbed onto her bed, tugging her closer until she crawled on her knees toward him across the mattress.

He had been warned, early in his career, that working for a Sith could be risky in more ways than one. At one time he had feared that Morda might turn her seductions into an enforced servitude, debasing his real skills and turning him into nothing but a pleasure toy. That had not happened, however, and he marveled now at how he found himself in a very unexpected place. Morda lay beneath him, the nightgown crumpled above her head and tangled in the rope that bound her hands to the headboard. When he dipped his head to kiss her, she tried to catch his lip in her teeth, but he smiled and pulled away before she could capture him. He drank in the way her eyes followed him as he began to move down her body.

Her skin was supple under his fingertips as he traced the gentle swells of her breasts, the curve of her hip, the indentation of her navel. His tongue found these places as well, and explored them with equal zeal, to which she responded with writhes and sighs, her body leaning into his touch. He teased her, varying the intensity of his attentions, noting her responses and cues, and delivering what she sought only to hold it back later until she squirmed with need.

He removed the last of her clothes, kissing the delicate skin of her calves and thighs, where he found tiny traces of scars long since healed. He moved on to more direct ways of pleasuring her, stroking her with his fingers and testing out variations with his mouth and tongue. Again and again he brought her to the brink, only to deny her a final release. She growled at him and strained at her bonds, but then she quieted, tossing her head and whimpering his name. At last he lured her back to the edge with slow, deliberate strokes, watching her teeter and gasp until finally she arched her back and stiffened. A great wave of energy tore through him like a vibration of infrasonic sound - Force power no doubt - stealing his breath and rattling a few of the objects on a nearby table. Morda collapsed against the bed and was still for a long time.

“By the stars, your torment was exquisite.” Her voice when she spoke was lazy and slow.

Quinn untied her hands and she curled up on the bed, burrowing her head into the nearest pillow and wiggling against him as he lay down beside her. His hand slid around her hip until it rested against her abdomen, and he thought of the last time he had held her this way, so long ago now on Tatooine. He never would have dreamed that he would someday share Morda’s bed, that he could lay here relaxed and content, brushing his lips against her shoulder blade and feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the palm of his hand.

_I am happy_ , he realized. _I have no regrets._

The future stretched strange and wondrous before him. He could not predict where it would lead.


	11. Chapter 11

Quinn was sitting on the bridge, running a routine scan of the Imperial holo frequencies while the Fury sat docked in Corellia’s Imperial controlled spaceport. They were on Corellia to enlist and protect a Dark Council member named Darth Vowrawn, who would be a strong ally in their fight against Baras. Morda had already tracked down and defeated two would-be assassins sent by Baras to take out Vowrawn before he could lend his considerable clout to Morda’s cause. Baras’s network of spies was extensive and well concealed - as well Quinn should know. Discrediting Baras’s bid to become the Voice of the Emperor started with undermining his vast power base.

A light blinked on the console before him, accompanied by a quiet chime, signaling that the airlock had been disengaged. That would be Vette returning from her latest mission. Quinn paid it little mind. A few minutes later, the door to the bridge slid open and Vette hurried in.

“Captain Quinn.” Her voice was hushed and urgent. When Quinn looked up he saw that Vette was clearly upset. She dimmed the lights on the bridge and leaned forward, peering out the window into the spaceport.

“Someone followed me,” she said. “Do you see him out there?”

“Who? Some spaceport ruffian?”

“No,” Vette said. “I think it was a Sith. Seriously creepy guy. Well, more so than a regular Sith I mean.”

Quinn squinted into the empty recesses of the spaceport, trying to pierce through the gloom. He saw nothing.

“I don’t--”

_"There!"_ Vette hissed. “See? See him now? By that barrel! It moved! Did you see it? Did you?”

Quinn stared at the spot where Vette was pointing but still saw nothing. Then the faintest flicker passed across a shadowed corner. Had he imagined it? They both watched the spot outside the ship for many long moments.

“It’s gone now,” Quinn said. “I’ll put it in my nightly re--”

There was a loud bang as a hulking shape leapt onto the front of the ship and hurled itself at the window. Quinn caught the briefest glimpse of glowing red eyes inside a cowl and then a fist came down upon the glass, followed by a thunderous blast of what could only be Force power. Cracks spiraled outward across the bridge’s viewport.

Quinn stumbled backwards out of his chair. Vette let out a loud swear.

“He can’t…he can’t break that glass can he?” she cried.

“It’s designed to handle the pressure of space travel. No one can break that!” The cracks clearly said otherwise though. Quinn began tapping out a distress signal to the local authorities but was halted by another blast rocking the ship. The cracks spread wider. 

“He’s a madman!” Quinn couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Surely this Sith wasn’t capable of breaking onto the bridge? Morda was out meeting with a General, and Pierce and Broonmark were out on missions. Quinn went to send a message alerting Morda of the attack, but the Sith struck again and this time the glass made a loud crackling noise.

“Get out! Get off the bridge!” Vette shrieked.

“Protect Vowrawn!” Quinn called. “I’m going to lock everything down.” The elderly Darth was their primary concern and had to be kept alive at all costs. No doubt that was who the assassin was after. Quinn began inputting the codes to bring all the controls off line and under password authorization. Would the Sith try to hijack the ship? Sabotage it somehow? Was he just trying to get onboard by bypassing the main entry? Quinn initiated a full emergency lockdown of the bridge, which would close the secondary, heavy blast-proof door and seal off the whole area within ten seconds. Quinn hit the switch and got ready to run.

At that moment, the glass shattered under the Sith’s final blow, and the viewport broke into a spray of tiny edgeless beads, a safety precaution that all Imperial battle class ships had been designed with. The glass gave way like a wave crashing onto the deck of a boat, pelting Quinn like rain and scattering the beads across the floor in an encroaching tide. The buzz of the Sith’s lightsaber cut through the tinkle of falling glass and Quinn threw himself in the direction of the door just as the thud of the Sith’s boots hit the floor.

The glass beads weren’t perfectly round, but they still caused Quinn’s feet to slide out from under him as he ran. One moment the doorway was looming closer, and in the next he was hitting the floor, with the threshold just out of reach. He scurried across the ground like a desperate animal, using hands, knees, feet -- grasping for purchase anyway he could. Above, the heavy metal door was beginning its steady descent towards the floor. Quinn’s every nerve tingled in anticipation of when he would feel the sting of the Sith’s lightsaber biting into his flesh. There was no time to reach for his blaster; he hoped instead that the assassin was struggling over the cascade of glass just as he had, with no time to aim a severing strike.

In the room outside, Vette was escorting Darth Vowrawn towards the ship’s exit. She looked in Quinn’s direction, her eyes wide.

“Quinn!”

Quinn threw himself across the door’s threshold, trying to scramble his way to the other side.

_I’m not going to make it_ , he thought, _I’m going to be crushed._

Vette was running towards him and Vowrawn’s hands were sparking with flashes of light. Vette slid to the ground and reached for Quinn. Her fingertips grazed his but then she abruptly pulled back and let out a scream.

Quinn felt a terrible weight crash into him, slamming hard in a line across his lower back, pinning him to the floor. The pressure was intense, driving all the air from his lungs. _Please let it be quick_ , he thought. He was being ground into the floor, the pain increasing and quickly becoming a white hot band across his middle. Then the closing mechanism abruptly disengaged. In the brief quiet that followed, Quinn heard the hum of a lightsaber from behind him, along with a terrible, chilling laugh. _If the door doesn’t cut me in half_ , he thought, _that Sith will._ Quinn braced himself for the inevitable.

From back on the bridge Quinn heard the sound of another lightsaber being drawn, followed by Jaesa’s voice.

“I will enjoy spilling your blood.”

Jaesa must have crept up on the assassin from behind, getting onto the bridge from the outside, just as the assassin had. Quinn had never been more thankful for her timely arrival.

Quinn blinked and saw Darth Vowrawn’s boots in front of his face. He craned his neck upwards and saw the Darth with his hands raised and a look of concentration on his face. There was a rumble and the weight of the door eased as it was made to rise, the motor squealing as it rode backwards against its normal momentum. Vette stood and fired a few shots into the gap while Quinn pulled himself, painfully and oh so slowly across the floor. He pulled the rest of his body across the threshold, and Vowrawn dropped his hands. The door crashed shut behind him.

“Thank you,” Quinn breathed. “Get...get out now. To the spaceport guard station. I’ll meet you...there.”

Vette looked at him doubtfully, but then nodded, leading Vowrawn off the ship. Quinn started to get to his feet but was met with a stabbing pain across his back. He tried to take a deep breath but that too brought on another bout of pain. He settled for taking a few shallow breaths and tried again. This time he was able to stand but not without considerable effort. He was alive at least, and there would be time later to run a proper assessment of his injuries.

Pulling his comm unit out caused an uncontrollable throbbing to begin in earnest, but Quinn ignored it and punched in the frequency for the spaceport guard station. He got some ruddy-faced kid on the holo who hesitated when he heard that the attacker was a Sith.

“I’m...I’m just a private, sir! I can’t authorize troops like that!”

“Just get your guard down here or you’ll have another angry Sith to contend with, and I’ll file a reprimand with your superiors on top of that.” Quinn closed the connection and gasped for air, feeling hot and dizzy. The sounds of a lightsaber battle still raged from beyond the door. If Jaesa were cut down, he’d be next unless he got off this ship now.

There was one last thing he needed to do. The ship had an alarm that was triggered to sound under various emergencies. Normally, a breach in the hull would be one such reason, but with the ship grounded, it had not gone off. The alarm was loud and would call attention to their plight as well as send an automatic report to the nearest Imperial space station. According to Imperial Military code 2654 they were required to respond and send help. Hopefully there would be someone competent there to receive the transmission. Quinn limped his way down the hallway to the engine room, where the manual override for the ship’s alarm was located.

The blare of the alarm made Quinn cringe, jolting his back muscles into more painful spasms. He hurried through the corridors which were drenched now in a sinister red light. He left the ship and its infernal screeching and encountered Jaesa outside. She was breathing hard, her eyes ablaze.

“The cretin ran when he heard the alarm and saw the guard troops coming. I never got a good look at his face.”

Across the hangar Quinn could see a small contingent of Imperial guards headed their way. Quinn waited for them to approach, conspicuously aware of a sticky wetness that was forming along his right side. He directed the troops to search the premises and the entire ship just in case, but he suspected that what Jaesa said was true and that the assassin had gotten away. He could already picture what a sorry report this whole incident would make.

Making it to the guard station was one of the longest walks of his life. His body felt hot and shaky. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping his discomfort wouldn’t be noticeable. Darth Vowrawn had a holocomm in his hand, the image currently blinking static. He looked up as Quinn entered, wide-eyed and in jubilant spirits.

“Well, that sure was exciting now, wasn’t it?”

Vette came and stood next to Quinn. She leaned into his ear and muttered, “That man is entirely too cheerful.”

“Ah, here we are!” Vowrawn exclaimed. The holo blinked and Morda appeared. Quinn barely listened as Vowrawn reported the situation. The lights in the room were hazy and dim. Had they always been like that? There was a distracting rushing in his ears. He tried to ignore it. His name was mentioned and he was pulled out of his daze.

“...must be commended! He acted with courage and showed no mortal concern.” Vowrawn was nodding at Quinn. Vette nudged him and he stepped forward.

“I’m...I’m making up for a past indiscretion. My commitment to my lord is unassailable now.”

“Well now!” Vowrawn declared. “Such dedication!”

Quinn didn’t hear the rest. He excused himself and went back to the ship. A few minutes ago his skin had felt like the burning sands of Tatooine, but now the dark hallways of the ship felt chilly. He stumbled into the medbay and began to ready a surgical probe. His side was soaked now with blood and he peeled away his uniform with care, dreading what he might see underneath. The damage wasn’t as severe as he had feared, but the gash was ragged and would need stitching. He set up the probe and crawled onto the nearest cot to close his eyes while it worked. His whole back throbbed to the beat of his heart. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

00o00

Morda slogged down the hallway of the _Fury_ towards the promise of a comfortable bed. Droids had been installing a new viewport window on the ship all day and it had been hard to hear herself think with all the racket their repairs caused. It was not safe to keep Darth Vowrawn on the ship any longer. She had made arrangements for lodging at the old Corelllian legislature building, which had been taken over by Imperial Command, but rooms wouldn’t be ready for them until tomorrow.

Morda had gotten as far as her bedroom door when she remembered that she had given Darth Vowrawn her room for the duration of his stay. She would have to sleep in Quinn’s old bunk in the crew quarters. At least she was tired enough that even one of those miserable beds would probably feel like paradise. She turned and started to move away from the door when she felt it from across the hall; a pain so sharp and encompassing that it smothered her like a blanket. It was coming from the medbay where Quinn slept. She pressed herself to the door and reached out with Force power. Mental anguish or physical? Should she leave him be? Then she heard the sound of glass shattering. She threw out a blast of Force power and wrenched the door open.

Quinn was hunched over his desk, standing with his back to her. For a moment, she almost didn’t recognize what she was seeing. Quinn was shirtless, but his entire lower back was so discolored with a sickening black bruise that his skin looked more like that of a dead man’s. Wrapped around his waist was a bandage, part of which was soaked through with blood. He appeared to be barely holding himself up, his arms shaking as he pushed clumsily through a pile of medicines that had fallen from the cabinet above and scattered across the surface of the desk. A few had rolled off and shattered on the floor, leaving behind a sticky puddle that was slowly creeping around his feet.

“Damn it Quinn! Why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured like this?” Morda raced into the room and learned over the desk to peer into his face. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, and when his blue eyes belatedly rose to meet with hers, Morda saw they were glazed with pain.

“I am…” Speaking seemed to cause him even more pain and he grimaced and struggled for breath. “…behind on the painkillers.”

“No,” Morda said. “What you need is a kolto tank.” Was Quinn coherent enough to help her work this thing? She spun the dial and set the tank’s levels, hoping the base setting would be enough. She wasn’t sure how to activate the more advanced features. When she turned back, she saw Quinn fumbling with one of the vials, trying to fill a syringe. He stuck it into his thigh and closed his eyes.

Morda began rummaging through the cabinets looking for the breathing mask for the tank. She was clearly making a mess, but Quinn’s silence at her destruction of his carefully organized space prickled her nerves even more.

“I’m putting you in this tank.”

Quinn didn’t protest. He began to pick at the bandage around his middle, tugging on it and trying to unwrap it. Morda took over, trying to be gentle as she lifted the cloth to reveal an angry-looking wound that had been stitched closed. The bandage stuck a little, and even though she peeled it away as carefully as she could, Quinn made a gut-wrenching noise and shuddered.

“I’m going…going to be…get the bucket.” He began retching. Morda jumped and began knocking things around.

“Where is it? Damn it, where is the kriffin’ thing?” _By the Force, I’d make a terrible nurse_ , she thought.

She found it and thrust it onto the desk underneath Quinn’s chin. He clutched at the bucket and heaved a few more times, but nothing came out. A bead of sweat was dripping down his temple and Morda noticed that his hands shook when he finally pushed away the bucket.

“Tank…” he said hoarsely.

Morda put her arm around him and guided him away from the desk. He weaved alarmingly on his feet, and Morda stumbled back against a nearby chair when she tried to hold him up. She used Force power to augment her strength to get him the rest of the way to the tank. She flung open the door and propped him against it. His head was lolling strangely and she feared that he was losing consciousness.

“Quinn…” She cupped the back of his head and tilted his face towards hers. “Stay with me. I didn’t spare you so you could become a martyr. You hear me?”

“Yes, my lord.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Looks worse than it is…Just…just didn’t expect the pain.”

“Ok then.” She fitted the mask over his face and hooked it up. He stepped in and immediately slumped to the floor. Morda shut the door and watched as the tank filled, slowly lifting Quinn from the bottom of the tank and buoying him until he floated serenely among the blue liquid. She climbed onto the cot that he used as a bed and laid down, but she couldn’t stop herself from cracking open an eye every now and then to check on him.

_I don’t want to lose him._ Morda regretted how much she had taken Quinn for granted. She had relied on him to always be there, to make sure things ran smoothly, to be the responsible one. There were times when she had sought comfort from him, reaching for his hand, just assuming that it would be given. He had waited for her to return when she had left the crew to have Mordius, faithfully looking after her ship and the other crew members. He had been selfless to the end.

_He gives and gives and gives, expecting nothing in return_ , Morda thought. _I’d like to change that._

00o00

Quinn rose slowly from sleep, gradually becoming aware that he was not laying in his own bed. This bed was cushioned and far softer than the cot he used in the medbay, and the covers were warm and heavy. At first, he noted this with curiosity, but that soon turned to alarm as his consciousness grew. He cracked open his eyes.

He was in Morda’s room and that meant that he was also in Morda’s bed. Memories returned to him, fuzzy and halting. Pain, Morda’s arms around him as she led him across the room, the Kolto tank. He wiggled his limbs experimentally. His muscles were sore and a bit shaky, but he felt whole. He hoisted himself into a sitting position, seeing that he was alone. How many days had he lost in the Kolto tank? He needed to get back on duty as soon as possible.

He rose on unsteady legs and discovered that he was dressed in nothing but a pair of undershorts. Dry undershorts, he noted. Someone had changed him out of his wet clothes after removing him from the tank. The thought of him naked, vulnerable, and under someone else’s care made him nervous. Who had taken care of him while he was unconscious?

A spare uniform waited for him at the foot of the bed, folded neatly. Once clothed, he felt a little more like himself. He was just fastening the last cuff when he heard the droid’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Captain Quinn?”

The door slid open before he could reply, and the droid stepped in.

“Oh, splendid!” it exclaimed. “You are awake. The Master bid me to keep an eye on you. She asked that you go directly to your quarters once you awoke.”

“Who left these clothes?” Quinn asked.

“Oh! I took care of everything. I took you out of the tank, redressed you, and left you a clean uniform, all as the Master directed. She wanted you to be undisturbed while you were recovering.”

Quinn nodded to the droid and made his way to the med bay, relieved that Morda had shown him the courtesy of keeping his privacy and dignity intact. It was apparent that the droid had cleaned most of the mess that had been left behind in the med bay as well. The floor was clean, the broken vials had been swept, and most of the medicines had been returned to their cabinets. Quinn turned slowly, looking things over. His holopad was blinking by his bed.

Morda had left him a message. Her tiny image flickered in his hand, but even at that size he could see that her look was stern.

“Captain, from now on I expect you to own up to your injuries and attend to them.” Quinn automatically straightened his posture without thinking, even though she couldn’t see him. Was she angry with him? He’d no doubt lost a lot of time recovering and perhaps he had set them back on their plans. Morda’s next comment took him by surprise. Her forehead creased and she leaned forward slightly as if she was about to impart something very important.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Quinn. I would be...I...” She trailed off, her miniature face pained with worry. “I value you more than you know.”

Quinn stared at the image, unexpectedly moved by her declaration. It was only the briefest pause, but the silence that followed felt significant. She had not spoken of his service, she had said that she valued him. Was he reading too much into her choice of words?

“Take the rest of the day off,” she continued. “That’s an order. And check your desk. I left you something to occupy your time while you are recovering. I expect to see you back on the bridge tomorrow morning.” The message ended.

Quinn turned and spotted a small package sitting on his desk, wrapped in plain paper. It was shaped oddly, too oddly to be a stack of reports to file. And she wouldn’t have wrapped a new shipment of med supplies like this. The paper fell away and Quinn held the object in his palm, too stunned for a moment to understand what he was seeing.

It was the miniature soldier figurine that he had pulled from the wreckage of the toy shop. She must have taken it when he wasn’t looking and saved it for him. There was more. With it was a new set of paints, and not just any kind of paints. It was the correct kind for detailing such miniatures, and included natural tones as well as a few brighter colors. He set the soldier on the desk and slowly sat down. This was a very personal gift and one which she had obviously taken care to research. He tried to imagine her, a Sith Lord, walking into a hobby shop and conversing with the merchants there, asking the right questions, being led to the right merchandise. Never had one of his superiors done anything like this. Indeed, it was not the kind of thing that a superior did for a subordinate at all. Quinn smiled. How much time did he have until bedtime? Maybe he could do just a little painting on it now.


	12. Chapter 12

Quinn walked into the medbay to find Lord Morda there, engrossed in rummaging through the cabinets.

“Can I help you find something, my lord?”

“Quinn!” She pulled her head out from behind a cabinet door and stared at him with her arms folded. Quinn might have been tempted to laugh, but he knew better.

“I just...it’s about this.” She thrust a package of stims at him.

He recognized the label. It was a birth control product. He was aware that this package of injections had gone missing from his inventory, but he had written off the loss and said nothing.

“Is something wrong with them?”

“Yes. They make me sick. I need something else.”

“Sick as in, nauseous?”

She nodded.

“We just need to adjust the dose. It’s no problem. Can I run a scan on you now?”

“I suppose you are going to tell me that I should have come to you in the first place instead of just taking them.”

Quinn had planned to say nothing of the sort, but he remained silent, since Morda looked like she had more to say.

“I feared that you would take my interest in these as a sign of...as an obligation perhaps, and with you I just don’t...I mean...damn it, Quinn.” She sighed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you for more than just that one night.”

Quinn felt the heat rushing to his face, but also with that came a sense of elation. Life on a Sith’s crew had more than kept him busy and they had not had a chance to truly be alone together since. He had thought about it though, many times. To think that she considered their budding physical relationship as something frequent and - dare he think it? - permanent, assuaged any fears he might have had that Morda wouldn’t be interested in him beyond that brief encounter.

“Did you think I would change my mind? My lord, I doubt I could stay away now even if I wanted to.” He paused. “Which I don’t...want to stay away, I mean.” He busied himself with the scanner. 

Morda smiled briefly and then grew quiet, her face becoming closed and introspective. “I wanted to do the right thing. I vastly underestimated my ability to control my body through the Force...last time.”

“It is not a weakness, my lord. I have only read of a few cases where Force sensitives had that degree of control. It was but a footnote in my medical texts.”

Morda nodded, her gaze far away. “I tried to find him, you know. I went looking for a record of who adopted Mordius.” Her voice was small, even meek, which caused Quinn to look up from the scanner. “The trail is cold. I knew the smuggler would hide him well, that they would probably change his name...but I wish, I just..” She trailed away.

“Would you like me to try to track down his whereabouts, my lord?” It was a difficult offer to make and one that Quinn did not relish fulfilling. He knew Morda ached for this profound loss, and it pained him to see her like this, but the baby was a memory that he didn’t care to revisit. It was a time period that had been painful for him too, for different reasons, and not one that he was proud of.

“No,” Morda said. The longing and uncertainty had left her voice, to be replaced by her usual commanding tone. “It is better this way. It needs to be this way.”

She turned to him abruptly, her red eyes sharp and piercing. “Have you ever considered that you might have kids someday, Quinn?”

Was she just curious? Or did she mean _with him?_ He didn’t realize how long he had hesitated until she spoke again.

“You don’t have to answer that.”

“I have thought about it, yes,” he said. “But not in a long while. I finally decided that my life was not conducive to long-term relationships.”

“You decided yourself, or life decided for you?” Her tone was knowing and Quinn was surprised at the question. This time he only took a second to answer. “The latter.” He realized that while he had answered her query literally, he had not really given her an answer to the question that had gone unasked.

“I would have liked children someday, my lord.”

“You say that like your chance has passed, Quinn.”

“I know better now than to assume...anything that life may or may not bring.” When had he become so pessimistic? Maybe it had happened when he had watched his peers from the academy getting married and starting families one by one, until he was one of but a few left. He had long ago decided that work was his life, and the thought that it could ever be otherwise was strange. He found he enjoyed thinking about it though. Maybe just a little.

“I could picture you with a bunch of little brats running around.” Morda was smiling now, almost wistfully.

“Oh no, my lord. They would never be brats. I would see to it that they were well-behaved. Discipline is important.”

Morda laughed. “I’m sure you would. You’d let them be kids and play though, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. I would always make sure to schedule some playtime in among their other activities.”

Morda laughed again, but Quinn didn’t see what was so funny. Was he really having a conversation about parenting with Lord Morda?

He looked over the scanner’s read-out. “I can have new dosages made up for you in a hour, if you like.”

“Good. Just leave them on my desk in my room, will you?”

“As you like, my lord.”

00o00

Morda had been lying awake in bed for some time, listening for the sound of the med bay door, but the silence in the hallway was absolute. Had everyone gone to sleep now except Quinn? The captain was on evening duty on the bridge, but his shift had ended nearly an hour ago. No doubt he was still working on that letter of complaint regarding Moff Broysc, and had lost track of time. As predicted, the moff had begun harassing Quinn over holocall with increasingly bizarre insults and threats.

Tonight, however, that was the last thing on Morda’s mind. Thoughts about Quinn had plagued her throughout the day, and the few times she had crossed paths with him it had nearly driven her wild with distraction. The quiet, modulated sound of Quinn’s voice and the way he so readily deferred to her in public contrasted sharply with how he had boldly taken charge in her bedroom. The silky brush of her nightgown over her body lit her skin on fire and she imagined Quinn’s hands there instead. Her desire for him was a painful and persistent ache, causing her to at last give up on waiting as a lost cause. She rose and crept down the hall. A red glow reached through the doorway of the bridge, casting the shadows a rich burgundy. Morda slipped into the room on silent bare feet.

Quinn was hunched in a chair in front of a monitor, his head in his hands. He sat back and Morda thought he must have heard her approaching, but he made no move to turn around. Instead he rubbed his temples and sighed.

“Quinn.” Morda spoke softly, so as to not startle him, but he twitched in surprise anyway. He started to turn towards her voice, but Morda slid her arms around his shoulders and down his chest, touching her lips to his neck. His hands rose and captured hers, and when Morda pulled back she saw that his eyes were closed and his head bowed.

“You should come to my bed.” Morda brushed against his ear and watched his chest rise and fall.

“Soon,” he murmured.

By the Force, this man could be impossible. Morda walked around and settled her hip against the arm of his chair. “Why not now?”

His eyes rose to meet hers. “My lord, I-”

She silenced him with a kiss.

When she released him, she saw that he was looking back at her, eyes wide and bright. Now she had his attention.

“You’ve been out here long past your shift, Quinn. You torture me with waiting.”

“I didn’t realize you were...” Quinn blinked at her, his face serious. “I don’t play games, my lord. You should know that by now.”

“Your mere presence on my ship is a tease, whether you mean it or not.”

A spark kindled in his gaze. “Is that so, my lord?”

“Forget the bedroom.” Morda gestured at the door across the room and it slid shut. Then she leaned forward and kissed him again. He slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer, and Morda lost herself willingly in the feel of him, his breath mingling with hers and his hands holding her tight. 

There was a beeping from the console behind her. Morda spun around and slammed her hand against it, cutting the noise off. Damned if work was going to get in the way of her having Quinn now.

“What was that?” Quinn’s voice was languid, his eyes heavy-lidded as his eyelashes feathered against her cheek. He stood up, guiding her of the chair and reaching for the console.

“Just a confirmation message. You can check it later.” She touched his chin and turned to him back to face her.

“Yes, maybe...maybe tomorrow.” His lips found hers again.

Morda slung her arms around his shoulders, and their difference in height pulled him forward towards her. They stumbled against each other and Morda was bumped back against the wall. She waited for the moment when Quinn would pull away, suggest that they find a more appropriate place, or perhaps make some excuse altogether. Instead, he buried his head along her neck, pressing the length of his body against hers. A pleasurable chill spun down Morda’s spine as his lips left a gentle trail of kisses from behind her ear down to her collarbone. Through the Force, Morda could sense Quinn’s desire like a heady fog, blinding in its haze. She drew strength from its power, feeling it infuse her limbs with tingles of energy even as it clouded her mind and sent a warm, liquid fire through her loins.

“Maybe we should find a bed after all.” Morda managed the words in between kisses and tugs at his uniform top.

Quinn paused only long enough to struggle his way out of the shirt, tossing it on the captain’s chair nearby.

“The bedroom is too far away.” He pushed Morda’s hands above her head and pinned her wrists to the wall. Morda squirmed, not to get away, but to relish the strength of his hands holding her in place, enjoying the feeling of surrender, willing to go wherever his passion would lead.

“As you command, captain.” She nibbled playfully at his lip, feeling her own desire buoyed by the rising tide that was engulfing both of them.

Quinn’s lips lingered at the hollow at her throat, and he released one of her hands to stretch the wide neckline of her gown over her shoulders and to her waist. He slid both of his hands behind her back and lifted her body closer, allowing his mouth to seek out bolder territory. He teased her with his tongue and then moved on to the small row of ridges down her chest, touching his lips to them curiously and tracing their lines with his tongue. He continued to pull impatiently at her gown, opening the elastic neckline until it slid off her hips and pooled on the floor.

Morda had worn nothing underneath. Quinn’s increased ardor tightened around her like the embrace of a serpent, leaving her faintly dizzy. Did he have any idea how much power he had over her at moments like this? Morda drank in his desire, needing it like a drowning man needed air. Morda loosened his belt and then reached in to caress him, finally wringing a groan from his throat, the first sound she had heard him yet make. Her touch seemed to spur him on with greater fervor and his hand reciprocated, his fingers moving between her thighs to find her ready for him.

Quinn seized Morda’s arm and spun her around, pushing her forward over the console and holding her down against the glass surface.

“Yes…” Morda said. “Give it to me.” Her vision blurred and narrowed, her surroundings becoming unimportant. “You want to. You need to…”

She heard Quinn fumbling with his clothes, and felt his knee parting her legs. Quinn was need personified, taken over by pure, wanton urge, and Morda wanted him to never stop, not caring if he reached his conclusion before she did. She was a floating piece of driftwood, lifted by the waves and pushed deeper into oblivion, so submerged in their shared pleasure that she felt blind and deaf to anything else. Morda splayed her fingers across the hard glass of the console and whimpered as her own desire began to crest into a painful ache.

Morda felt Quinn’s moment of climax building in the tenseness of his thighs, and he sucked in air in uneven gasps. He was silent in those final moments, but the peak of his emotion was a brilliant spike of energy in the Force that slammed into Morda so strong that she could concentrate on nothing but riding it out. The power of it tipped her over the edge and she dipped her head to muffle a cry.

Quinn drew away and Morda lay still across the console, gasping for breath and still shaking from the waves that had overtaken her. “You are magnificent,” she whispered. “Just as I knew you would be.”

Slowly she pushed herself upright and turned just in time to see Quinn sink into the captain’s chair nearby, looking dazed.

Morda gathered up her nightgown and slipped it over her head. “Maybe I should make a point of having more of these late night visits.” She smiled and met Quinn’s eye, then walked from the room.

Indeed, Quinn would have made a glorious Sith.

00o00

Imperial Command had dismissed Quinn’s complaint regarding Moff Broysc. The message was professional and polite, but there was no denying it. It was still a rejection. Quinn’s hopes sank. He had written such a detailed report, accurate to the letter and with painstaking attention to all protocol, and had even included Morda’s endorsement at the end. Was there anything more that he could have done? Only one man on Major Ovech’s squad had agreed to verify Quinn’s account of events. Even Major Ovech himself had turned down Quinn’s request for other witnesses. Quinn recalled the way Ovech had sighed and looked upwards, as if seeking answers from the great void of space. “You want to do the right thing, Quinn, I understand that,” he had said. “But Broysc is untouchable. Be content with the thanks of myself and my troops. What you did means more to me than any official recognition of Broysc’s failure.”

Quinn dismissed the message and began going over the ship’s accounts. There was a recent outflow of money that did not have one of the usual purchase codes, so Quinn paused to give it a more detailed look. He leaned forward and stared at the line entry. Seems Morda had acquired another slave. Another slave? Quinn couldn’t make sense of it. Was Morda unhappy with Vette? Surprisingly, Quinn found himself feeling disappointed at the thought of Vette being replaced. She was an annoying pain to be sure, but she was loyal and competent. Quinn checked the purchase details. Some Twi’lek female named Tivva, whose service specialty was listed as “entertainment.” He felt a bit hurt that Morda had not consulted him, and then a feeling of unease crawled over him. What would Morda want with a pleasure slave?

There was a rustle in the doorway and Quinn spun in his chair. “My lord.” He gave Morda a nod as she walked in.

“Already hard at work, I see. Was last night just a dream then?” She gave him a smile that melted his insides to butter.

“No dream, my lord. It was a memorable night.” That was an understatement. Quinn had woken up this morning, his desires raging and his mind filled with images of their passionate interlude. In fact, if he didn’t think of something else quick, his body was going to give away his thoughts at this very moment.

“You were fantastic.”

Quinn felt a blush stealing over him and dropped his eyes back to the monitor. Morda sat and busied herself at one of the terminals and Quinn turned back to the accounts. There was a short lull of silence before Morda spoke again.

“So, were you going to eat that stuff that Pierce cooked up the other night? It’s sitting in a brown congealed lump and I’m this close to throwing -- Quinn, is something wrong?”

Quinn blinked, feeling his heart skip a beat. Was he that distracted that he was unable to hide his concerns over the new slave? Or had Morda gotten that good at reading his subtle moods?

“There is nothing wrong, my lord. I see that you have acquired another slave, and the purchase was...unexpected. That is all.”

“Another...? Oh. That’s Vette’s sister, Tivva. I paid her purchase price and set her up in an apartment in a better section of Nar Shaddaa. I signed off on her papers, so she’s no longer a slave.”

Relief washed over Quinn, but his surprise had only grown. “You freed Vette’s sister, my lord?”

“Just a favor, that’s all. I didn’t think it was important enough to mention.” Morda’s words rushed together, and her interest in the console before her was suddenly too focused to bother meeting Quinn’s eye.  
“Of course,” Quinn said. He looked away, and then added, as if as an afterthought, “It was generous of you, my lord.”

Morda just grunted and waved a hand dismissively. Quinn found himself feeling unexpectedly pleased. Since when did he care about the affairs of slaves?


	13. Chapter 13

They were surrounded.

Morda gripped the hilts of her lightsabers and spun in a slow circle. Six Jedi, masters most of them. It was impossible odds, but she had known going in that infiltrating this bunker wouldn’t be easy. What she hadn’t expected was that she would encounter all the Jedi at once. One of these Jedi was actually a Sith posing undercover, but he or she was no ally of Morda’s. The spy belonged to Baras and was the reason Morda had come here.

“Stand down Sith,” one of the Jedi said. “There’s no need to spill blood.”

Morda narrowed her eyes and hefted one of her blades in a threatening gesture. Adrenaline surged through her and she was ready to give this battle everything she had. Damn these Jedi; she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Quinn had been caught in the circle of advancing Jedi as well, which was unfortunate. Morda felt him now, his back pressed against hers as they pulled their defenses together in a tight knot. He spoke quietly over her shoulder.

“This is suicide, my lord. I advise you to surrender. It may be our only chance for survival.”

A growl found its way into Morda’s throat, born of frustration and thwarted anger. Quinn was right. Dying now would put their plans in jeopardy and would most certainly sentence Quinn to death as well. The hum of Morda’s blades fizzled out as she thrust her lightsabers back into their holsters.

“This isn’t over.” Morda glared at the leader.

He ignored her in that detached Jedi way that Morda always found annoying and held out his hands, nodding in the direction of the lightsabers on her belt. Of course, they would want to disarm her. Morda reluctantly drew out the hilts and handed them to him. From behind her, she saw Quinn giving up his blaster, as well as a knife.

“Put them in cuffs and take them to the Enclave. And get Force dampeners on the Sith as soon as we bring her in.”

Morda’s hands were restrained behind her back and then one of the Jedi threw a blindfold over her head, snapping it quickly into place over her eyes. This was stupid. Morda knew where the Green Jedi had their headquarters already. Did they really think they were hidden from the Empire’s eyes?

Sometime later, while she was being guided through the enclave’s maze-like halls, Morda realized the reason why her sight had been handicapped. She quickly lost track of the many twists and turns they took her through, and when she at last arrived at her destination, she had barely any reference to where she was in the building other than knowing that it was somewhere on one of the levels below ground. Quinn was still with her but it was only a matter of time before they were separated.

A hand pressed sharply against her back and her knees hit the floor. The mask was torn off and Morda blinked in the light, quickly counting two Jedi left to guard her and three prisoner cells, all of them empty. The cuffs around her wrists were sealed with Force power, but Morda suspected they could be broken if hit by a strong enough blast. Once the Force dampeners were put on her, however, she’d be truly helpless.

Before she could change her mind, Morda acted, pushing Force power outward and focusing all her attention on her cuffs. They snapped open and Morda leapt to her feet, swinging out a hand and calling forth one of the Jedi’s lightsabers from his belt. It flew into her grasp. The brilliant blue blade ignited and became an instant a blur as she swung it through the air toward the now unarmed Jedi. She struck him down as he threw out his hands to try and protect himself, just a split second too slow. She whirled on her feet to parry a swing from the remaining Jedi, and his green blade clashed against hers with a buzz. This opponent moved like a snake, darting around her slashes and striking out with lightning quick thrusts. Morda drove him hard, yelling in her eagerness and frustration. He winced and beside her even Quinn jerked backwards, stunned from the sound of her Force-enhanced cry. Under different circumstances, Morda could have slain this Jedi, but without her second lightsaber, they were evenly matched. She jumped into the air and came down on him with all her might, but he collapsed into a roll and her blade passed through empty air instead. She swung again before he could rise, certain that this time her blow would land.

A brilliant yellow double-bladed lightsaber materialized out of stealth and blocked her strike. Morda was startled and quickly lost the advantage. This new Jedi, a woman wearing robes of gold and white, spun and twirled with dizzying speed. This was not one of Corellia’s Green Jedi. Morda’s feet were kicked out from underneath her and before she could react, she hit the floor. The woman’s blade stopped at Morda’s chin and hung in the air. Morda sneered at her but had to admit defeat.

The man spoke. “You have impeccable timing Barsen’thor. Thank you.”

The woman nodded, but did not take her eyes off of Morda. “I’m glad I happened to be here.”

The male Jedi kicked the lightsaber hilt away from Morda’s side and snapped a Force-dampening collar around Morda’s neck. Immediately, Morda’s world went dim and she felt as she were being smothered with a blanket. Panic rose within her but she clamped it down. Was this what it was like to be Force-blind? Morda felt naked and vulnerable.

Quinn, still kneeling at her side, glanced over at her with concern. “It has been my greatest honor to serve you, my lord,” he said quietly.

Morda met his eyes, expecting to see despair, but instead she found his gaze to be bright and direct. Did he have a new plan?

“I would have no one else as my partner, Quinn,” Morda said. Morda watched as he was hauled to his feet and pushed out of the room.

Morda allowed herself to be led into one of the cells. The energy walls rose around her, sealing her in, and the woman called Barsen’thor came and peered closely at her, her face only inches away.

Morda stood and came as close to the energy wall as she dared. The woman was a Mirialan, she saw now, with golden skin and a sharp angular tattoos along her jawline. Her eyes were as gold as the rest of her, as was her hair. Morda had the distinct feeling that she was looking at a true equal, in power and in skill.

“You are not what I expected,” the woman said quietly. She stared at Morda for a moment longer, saying no more, and while Morda could no longer feel this woman’s power or intentions through the Force, she had a strong suspicion that this Jedi had seen into the depths of her heart.

The Jedi turned then and walked away, and Morda was left alone in her cell.

00o00

It was well into the night when Morda’s stomach started growling. If she couldn’t sleep before, now it would be even harder. Her cell was bathed in a pool of light coming from a spotlight in the ceiling, but beyond that was unlit, putting her at a distinct disadvantage. The darkness beyond felt heavy and impossibly thick without her connection to the Force to guide her sight. Her ears played tricks on her, and she squinted into the darkness thinking she heard someone coming, but no one appeared. Restlessness tugged at her, making her fidgety and impatient. How long until morning?

There was a pop and the lights went out. The silence rang in Morda’s ears so loudly that it took her a moment to realize that the energy walls around her had also collapsed. Morda sprang to her feet and bolted from the cell. It was not a moment too soon. A low rumble began under her feet as an electronic hum signalled the awakening of a back-up generator from somewhere below. New lights blinked on from the corners of the room, dimmer than the originals, their placement creating strange elongated shadows. Alarmed voices echoed from down one of the hallways.

Morda pivoted on her heels and took off for the room’s only other exit. Her foot hit something solid just beyond the doorway and she tripped, careening into the wall and just barely catching herself from planting her face on the floor. A body lay under her feet. She rolled him over into a pool of light and inspected him briefly for wounds. There. A tiny poison dart on his neck. Quinn’s work?

She broke into a run, trying to avoid the pools of light when she could and darting through them when she couldn’t. One hallway looked just like another, with no sign of which way might lead out. Voices carried strangely within these subterranean walls, making it hard for Morda to determine their origin or direction. Urgency formed a cramp in her gut. She had to get out.

Morda spotted an elevator and ran onto the platform, but the controls were locked and would not operate without a key or code. She barked out a swear and hurried down the hallway again. _I’m trapped_ , she thought. _I’m just scurrying about uselessly like a rodent._ The voices were gaining, and had grown loud enough now that Morda could make out their words.

“...confined to this level...close now...”

Morda tried to pick an off-shooting corridor that led away from the voices. She hadn’t gone far when she realized that she’d headed into a trap. A Republic soldier was standing in her path, his blaster trained on her. Morda peered behind him but saw nothing but darkness. Was he truly alone? She stared him down, feeling angry at how helpless she was without her lightsaber or access to even the Force. Did this grunt know that?

Her arm shot out and she beckoned to the shadows as if calling forth an object there, then immediately swung her hand forward as if making a powerful Force throw. The soldier flinched and reacted to fend off the imaginary object just as Morda spun and struck him hard along the jaw with the heel of her foot. He stumbled sideways and Morda hit him again with her fist. It was not the hardest hit, but she had the element of surprise, and so it was enough to cause him to lose his balance and fall backwards. Morda kicked him once more for good measure, then grabbed his blaster and ran.

Luck was not with her. A robed Twi’lek stepped into one of the pools of light ahead of her, her blue bladed lightsaber glowing like sapphire in the dim light. Morda slid to a stop.

“You have nowhere left to run, Sith. Surrender, now.”

“I am the Emperor’s Wrath,“ Morda snarled. “You will never be able to hold me for long.” Morda’s mind whirled as she weighed her options. She had the grunt’s blaster, but what good was it when she was no better than a clumsy and slow Force-blind? The Jedi would have her disarmed in moments. And even if she could get past this Jedi, it was true that she had no means to escape these labyrinthine halls.

“We shall see about that.” The Jedi effortlessly pulled the blaster from Morda’s grip using the Force and sent it hurling out of her reach. Then she snapped cuffs on Morda once again. Despair began to creep into the edges of Morda’s mind.

Morda was not taken back to her cell this time. Instead, she was marched onto a lift and led onto a small landing pad. Soldiers were scurrying about and a handful of Green Jedi were gathered around a small transport vehicle. The Twi’lek grabbed Morda’s arm and turned her to face one of the Green Jedi.

“I’ve got her, Master Injaye.”

This new Jedi was another woman and she paused to study Morda a moment from under creased brows. “Good,” she said at last. “We depart for Coruscant immediately. If we leave now we can reach the spaceport and make lift-off before dawn.”

Another blindfold was secured over Morda’s eyes and she climbed awkwardly into the back of the speeder. Just before the door shut she felt an unexpected prick on the arm from a needle.

“Just to keep you calm, Sith,” said a voice. “We want you to relax and enjoy this ride.” Some distance away someone snickered and then was shushed. Morda waited for the inevitable loss of consciousness but nothing happened. The speeder rocked gently as other occupants got inside and Morda listened to their voices, trying to gauge how many others were travelling with her. At least two Jedi, she guessed, judging by the voices she identified around her: Master Injaye and the green Twi’lek. Was the driver a Jedi too? Morda had no way to tell. 

The engines engaged and Morda felt wind in her hair as the vehicle left the building and quickly gained speed. The night was fairly quiet, with only a few sounds of distant battle. Morda found herself daydreaming, her thoughts gently flitting in and out with curious passivity. From far away she realized that this was not right. She should be upset, she should be plotting escape. But instead she felt the air against her cheek like tufts of cloud passing by, and the seat sucked her into its cushions, cradling her gently like a protective mother. _I’m drugged_ , she thought lazily. Even that thought caused her no alarm. She watched the thought pass by like the cars of a meandering tram, where it was quickly replaced by other meaningless observations. Morda tried for a moment to catch one of her thoughts and hold it in her mind, but it slipped through her consciousness like a wriggling fish and was soon gone.

Just then, there was a deafening bang and Morda was thrown into the air. _An explosion underneath us,_ she thought vaguely. _Did we run over a mine?_ She imagined the Jedi floating through the air, their robes billowing out around them, just as helpless now as she was. She might have laughed at that but then something slammed into her, jolting her back to reality. She rolled in the dirt and came to a stop.

Around her she heard chaos, more explosions, and blaster fire. The Jedi were drawing their lightsabers. Someone was screaming. Morda lay on the ground, her hands tied in front of her, her eyes blindfolded, and slowly realized that she needed to get up and move. She pulled herself into a sitting position, trying to focus on which way was up. She discovered that if she tilted her head towards her feet and stared down her nose she could actually see through a small gap in the blindfold. The toes of her boots were surrounded by debris and floating particles of dust, lit faintly by the few still functioning street lights. She began to trudge through the dirt, dodging rocks and other obstacles as they abruptly appeared under her feet through her tiny window of vision.

She felt heat against her back from another explosion and broke into a loping run. Survival and escape became the only coherent thoughts in her mind. She skipped over rocks and jumped over crevices, trying to stay on course, hoping that she wasn’t just blundering in circles. The ground was getting rocky and treacherous, and Morda had the vague thought that perhaps she had chosen the wrong way to run. She tripped over a stone and caught herself, but then the ground opened up underneath her and she fell.

She slid wildly on her feet down a steep and jagged slope, unable to restore her balance because of her bound hands. How deep was this crater anyway? Her foot hit a snag and she tumbled forward, seeing for the briefest moment a glimpse of stars overhead. The world spun by at dizzying speed and Morda did the only thing left to do. She threw her arms over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to tuck her body into a more controlled roll. The ground became wet and slick, mud clogged her nose, and she splashed headlong into a massive puddle of muck.

Morda lifted herself on shaky arms and coughed up grainy clumps of slime, spitting and gasping. It was quiet. Gone were the sounds of yelling and blaster fire. Had she lost them?

Then her ears picked up a sound, a steady crunch, crunching across the gravel above the lip of the crater. There it stopped, and Morda waited, laying still and holding her breath, feeling helpless as a Nekarr kitten and just as pathetic. Footsteps began picking their way down into the crater, sloshing through the mud, and stopped at last in front of her. Her blindfold was askew, and through the growing gap above her nose Morda saw green boots and armored leggings. One of the Green Jedi’s Republic soldiers then. The driver of the speeder? _I’m a sorry excuse for a Sith_ , she thought. _The Emperor’s Wrath, brought to an inglorious end by a mere Force-blind in a muddy ditch on Corellia._ She let out a bitter laugh.

“My lord?” The blindfold was pulled hastily from her head and Morda looked up, following the line of the uniform up to a familiar face and deep blue eyes.

“Quinn.” Morda stared, trying to piece together this puzzle. So death would not come to claim her this day. “By the Force, I love you.”

He looked momentarily startled, but recovered quickly and knelt next to her to begin running the med scan over her. _My Quinn_ , she thought, _ever the professional._ She would have thrown her arms around him, had she been able, but lacking that she fell forward instead and buried her head against his shoulder.

“I thought I was done for.”

His arms slowly closed around her and she felt rather than heard him sigh.

“Master!” Jaesa’s voice called from out of sight. She sounded exhilarated and in moment was bounding down into the crater to join them. “I wanted to kill the last Jedi, but she is asking to speak to the Wrath and Quinn stopped me. You will save the kill for me won’t you Master?”

“Let me see her. And get this collar off me.”

Jaesa was able to snap open the cuffs and remove the Force dampening collar, and finally, for the first time in hours, Morda felt like she could breathe freely again. She climbed out of the crater and found the Twi’lek Jedi dead in the dirt. Morda stooped to retrieve the Jedi’s lightsaber. Huddled next to her body was Master Injaye who was being watched over by Vette and Pierce.

“My lord Wrath!” Master Injaye implored, “I am a Sith and true to the Empire. I am here among the Jedi on the orders of Darth Baras.”

“You’re the spy I have been looking for then. If you serve Baras then you are no ally of mine” The Jedi lightsaber in Morda’s hand came alive, the blue blade casting a strange pall over Master Injaye’s face. For a moment, her face looked stricken, but then her eyes hardened. Morda felt the shift in her as Injaye pulled power from the Force in preparation for an attack.

“Baras is the true Voice and you will not deny him!” Quinn had confiscated Injaye’s lightsaber, but she cast out her hand now and the lightsaber flew from Quinn’s belt into her grasp.

Morda slashed a sharp cut at Injaye just as Pierce’s blaster discharged. The Jedi was dead in an instant from both weapons, and Morda holstered the lightsaber with a satisfied grunt.

“This mission may have turned into a disaster, but at least I accomplished what I set out to do.” She turned and looked around at her crew. “So,” she said, trying to get her bearings and shaking the dust from her muddled mind, “What the hell happened here?”

“I planted an explosive in the street,” Vette said, “and Quinn made sure to drive over it.”

Morda glanced back and forth at Vette and then Quinn. “You purposely ran over an explosive?”

Vette shrugged. “It was the only thing we could think of on such short notice.”

Quinn cut in, “It was a calculated risk, my lord. I judged it acceptable given the dire circumstances.”

“Well, we’re all alive, so I guess it worked.” She turned to Quinn, “How did you escape?”

“The Jedi considered you the true threat. They failed to disarm me completely, leaving me in possession of a few poison darts. I got lucky when I chose to take this Republic soldier’s place, and was able to become the driver of your speeder. We formulated our plan with a bit of improvisation and one covert holocall.”

“You all did a remarkable job.” Morda nodded to each of them in turn. Jaesa was pouting, no doubt because she’d been denied the killing blow on Master Injaye.

Cold mud and a seeping wetness was burrowing into Morda’s clothes, making her aware now of just how uncomfortable and grimy she was. Their firefight had made quite a bit of noise, and a cloud of smoke was rising from the partially burnt speeder. The Green Jedi would surely notice that they had lost touch with the entourage, and it would only be a matter of time before someone came to investigate. They left the scene and began the long walk back to the Imperial command center.

Vette hot-rigged the second unattended speeder they came across (the first merely sparked and sputtered) and offered it to Morda. Quinn suggested that he be permitted to drive her back, and the swiftness of his request made Morda wonder if she was still noticeably drugged.

“I feel fine.”

Quinn had apparently been expecting her assent because he had already begun climbing onto the bike. Upon hearing her protest, he pulled back and sighed. A tiny inspection light appeared in his hand and Morda blinked when he shone it directly into her left eye. He peered at first one eye and then the other, until Morda saw spots.

“My lord,” he said. “Your pupils are still dilated. It is safer if you let me ride with you.”

“Since when do I ever do the ‘safe’ thing?” Morda gave him a surreptitious smile. “Well, as long as that means that I get to ride with my arms around you, I guess I can’t complain.”

Quinn reddened slightly, but Morda detected a hint of a small smile. “As you wish, my lord.”

00o00

“Damn. Watch out, here comes one angry Sith.”

Quinn overheard the soldier’s chatter as he and Morda were approaching the command base. It was nearly dawn, and as the effects of whatever drug the Jedi had given her wore off, Morda was becoming more and more her old self. That meant that she was getting increasingly irritable over her muddied state.

Quinn turned to the two soldiers who had been conversing. “This command post has showers, doesn’t it?”

One of the men snickered. “If by ‘showers’ you mean the hose out back, sure.”

“I see.”

Quinn left Morda waiting outside while he went back into the building. He grabbed the only suitable thing he could find, a robe Morda had left draped over a chair, and went back outside. Around the back of the building was a makeshift stall behind a dingy curtain, and sure enough, a hose had been rigged through a hole in the back wall, hanging loosely in the place where a showerhead would normally be. There was also an alcove with a deep basin that was intended to be a sink. It was not at all suitable, but it would have to do. Quinn went out to meet Lord Morda.

She was arguing with a red-faced commander, who kept nodding and apologizing every other word. When she looked up and saw Quinn approaching, she noticeably relaxed.  
“Quinn.”

“I’m here, my lord. Follow me and I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up.”

“Captain,” the commander said, “those showers are for the enlisted soldiers and are far below a Sith’s standards. I told my lord she could wait and be transported elsewhere with better facilities.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Morda said. “Quinn, lead the way.”

She followed him to the washing area behind the building and sunk to the ground, sighing. When she began to wrestle with one of her boots, Quinn knelt down beside her.  
“My lord, let me help you.” He pulled off the first boot and she sat back to let him remove the second. The mud was like sludge and quickly made his hands slippery. He got up and went into the shower. There were no knobs, so he followed the trail of the hose to a small trapdoor in the ground. There he found the controls to turn it on. He went back and forth, adjusting the water pressure and trying to get the hose to point in a useful direction. The water was lukewarm at best. He sighed and pulled back the curtain to step out again.

Morda had stripped off almost all her armor and was barely clothed in what little she had left on. The undershirt and shorts she wore clung to her, accentuating her shape and leaving little modesty.

“My lord!” Anyone could come around the building at any moment, and the area was hardly private. “You should get inside the stall.”

“What does it look like I’m trying to do?”

Quinn looked away politely as she walked by him, but she brushed against him as she slipped past the curtain. “Well, this is rather primitive,” he heard her say.  
Quinn felt a little winded, like he’d been running and needed to catch his breath. He turned and stood guard outside the stall. From beyond the curtain he could hear Morda splashing and muttering until finally her voice called out to him.

“Quinn, get in here and help me.”

“You…ah…what?”

“I need you to hold this hose.” Her head poked out from behind the curtain. “Why so shy? I don’t care if you look. Not like you haven’t already seen me already, you know.” A smile touched the corners of her lips.

Quinn’s mouth was far too dry. He hesitantly pulled back the curtain. “My lord, if others see us…”

“Then what?” Morda asked. “They’ll be jealous and wish they’d fallen in the mud too.” She laughed. “Get in and close the curtain, you’re bringing in a draft.”

Quinn stepped in. Morda had left her underclothes on, thankfully, and had rinsed off most of the mud. She was now trying to get the remainder out of her hair. She handed him the hose and leaned over the sink.

“Just hold it out like this. And keep it steady.”

Quinn complied. Morda dunked her head under the water and began working the grit out of her hair. Dark muddy swirls filled the sink and Quinn stared at them for a while, then he raised his eyes to watch Morda.

Her short hair looked longer and darker underneath the steady stream of water, making her brilliant red skin even more striking in contrast. When she pushed her hair back away from her face, Quinn caught a glimpse of tiny water droplets clinging to her eyelashes like iridescent pearls. Her followed the line of her body, noticing normally hidden details revealed through the translucent material of her soaked shirt. His fingers longed to follow the delicate ridges along her spine, needing to explore the texture of her skin or the curve of her shoulder blades. His mind lingered over the words she had spoken to him when he had found her at the bottom of the crater.

_She said she loved me._ That was the drug talking, obviously. Could it be a reflection of her true feelings?

She sighed and stretched, growing obviously tired from holding herself slumped over the sink.

“My lord, if you’ll let me...” He leaned over her and smoothed a hand through her damp hair, redirecting the spray of water and allowing her to use both her arms now to steady herself over the sink. She leaned into the water and Quinn gently washed her hair. So what if he took a little longer than was really necessary? It was good to be thorough after all. Service is its own reward, he had told her once. It was times like this that he truly meant it. He would have stood here an age and a day if time had let him, running his fingertips behind her ears and down the back of her neck, feeling her skin cool and bare beneath his hand.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said at last. She wrung her hair as best she could with no towel and straightened.

Quinn stepped outside and brought her the robe, helping her into it, if only for the excuse to touch her again. As they walked back around the command center building, Quinn noticed a few stray looks thrown his way, and realized that his clothes were wet in places as well. He stared down the onlookers, unashamed.

00o00

Morda’s room at Imperial Command had once been the office of some high-level Correlian official. It had a large, domed ceiling and elaborate molding along the walls, tasseled curtains, and heavy stuffed couches that were soft and voluminous enough to sleep in. In fact, Quinn was having a hard time not doing exactly that. He set down the datapad he’d been reading and glanced over at Morda. She had already succumbed to sleep and had drifted further down the couch since Quinn had last checked. If this continued, she would be using him as a pillow next.

It was late and he should go back to his own quarters. He began to extricate himself from the couch, but Morda stirred. Next thing he knew, his arm was being held captive and she was peering up at him with sleepy red eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to retire to the crew’s quarters, my lord.”

“These are your quarters, here with me.” She was staring at him with a look that was both defiant and innocent, as if daring him to object.

“I...” Quinn closed his mouth and the excuses he had prepared died in his throat. From her recent sleep, a wave of Morda’s hair blithely defied gravity on the side of her head. Her shirt was askew, and Quinn could see the well of her collarbone dipping below the neckline. She was his lord, and possibly one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy, but at that moment, she was a woman only, sleepy, disheveled and desiring of his company. When had she begun to seem so, well... _human_ to him?

“Very well, my lord.” And then, more boldly, he added, “I would be happy to stay.” How could he have ever wanted otherwise?

The couch welcomed him back, warm and inviting, and he settled in with a sigh. Morda squirmed closer, sliding her arm around him and laying her head against his shoulder. Outside, a distant aerial bombardment continued, sounding more like thunder than the accoutrements of war. Here in this room, with Morda pressed against him, Quinn felt far away from that world of violence and uncertainty. His comfort was fleeting however, for once the thought of what lay ahead of them - the war, and most of all, Baras - encroached, he could not free himself from it. He had never doubted Morda’s prowess and skill, but now the stakes were higher, the danger greater. Quinn had lived with the knowledge that he had feelings for Morda ever since that terrible day when he had set the trap on the transponder station, but now it seemed imperative that he not keep this burden a secret any longer.

He gently pried off her arm, holding her away from him a moment, so that he could more clearly see her face.

“My lord, there is something I need to tell you.”

Her brows furrowed. “I’m listening, Quinn.”

“For some time now...” He paused, wondering how comprehensive this confession needed to be. How far back should he go? Should he tell her of the anguish in his heart when he realized that he loved her? Or should he focus on the joy instead when he knew that she would continue to welcome him at her side? He realized that none of that mattered. “My lord,” he said, trying to steady his voice, “I’ve fallen in love with you, and I think...” was that a smile edging across her face? “...I think you’ve fallen in love with me.” He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. “Am I wrong?”

“Was it my confession earlier today that clued you in?” Morda craned her head to look up at him and he was greeted by her wide, unencumbered grin.

“You remember that?”

“Of course. I wasn’t that drugged up. Just a little more...relaxed.”

Quinn laughed, relieved. Morda traced the side of his jawline, her eyes meeting his. “Yes, Quinn,” she continued, “the feeling is mutual.”

Quinn felt a burst of exultation fire through him like an electric charge. “I am so glad to hear that my lord. Now that we’ve said it, perhaps later we’ll show it.”

Morda laughed. “I love seeing that glint in your eye. Later is too long to wait. How about now?” She kissed him and Quinn knew that he was more than willing to give in.


	14. Chapter 14

Morda was calm as they approached the doors of the Dark Council chamber. Waiting for them were Darth Vowrawn and another Sith, one who looked familiar to Quinn but whom he couldn’t place.

“My lord,” said the Sith. He bowed low. “I swore I would see your designs fulfilled and I am here now as a show of loyalty to you. Woe be to those who would choose Baras over you.”

“Lord Rathari. I am pleased to see you.” Morda gave the man a respectful nod.

Quinn remembered then. Lord Rathari was the first Sith that Quinn had seen Morda spare after a battle. He had been baffled by her show of mercy at the time, not recognizing her vision or understanding her true talents of persuasion. How long ago that seemed now.

“Baras is in there,” said Vowrawn, “fluffling himself up before the Council. Show him his error and let him fall before the Emperor’s will.”

“I look forward to it.” Morda nodded to each of them in turn and walked down the red carpet towards the tall double doors at the end. She paused and Quinn caught her glance his way. She needn't say a word; Quinn saw everything she wanted to say in her eyes. Either they would leave the chamber triumphant, or they would both die. Morda was confident, but it was not the unexamined, reckless confidence of youth that lit her red eyes aglow. She was wary, Quinn knew, accepting of the enormity of this task and the repercussions which would affect them all. If they did not come out of this alive, it would not be through ignorance of the the enemy they faced. Morda was as prepared as she could ever be. If she died this day, Quinn would see her die a warrior, and he would be honored to fall at her side.

“I am ready, my lord.” He held her gaze. She nodded, pushed open the doors and stepped into the chamber.

“That better be Darth Vowrawn.” Baras dominated the middle of the chamber, with the members of the Dark Council seated on a dais around him. He was as arrogant as ever, daring to expose his back for the precious seconds it took for him to make a slow and casual turn.

“You were not expecting me Baras? I would have thought that the Emperor, given his close relationship with you, would have informed you that I was coming.”

“Is this a joke? You are not welcome here, youngster. Leave the important discussions to your betters.”

Morda stepped forward until she shared the center spotlight with Baras. She swiveled and addressed each of the Council members in turn.

“I am the Emperor’s Wrath, chosen by the supreme master himself. I know his will, and I tell you now: Baras is not the Voice.”

There were murmurs from the assembled darths, but no one challenged her. Nor, Quinn noticed, did they stick up for Baras either.

Finally, one of the seated lords stood and spoke. “What is this, Vowrawn? Why do you disrupt the Council by bringing this Sith here who is not one of us?”

Vowrawn stepped up to his vacant chair, his ever present smile giving bravado to his words. “Listen to the Wrath. You have been deceived my friends. Baras has been playing you all along in an elaborate grab for power.”

“Pathetic,” Baras said. “You refuse to accept reality, Vowrawn. This Sith, my failed former apprentice, is not the Emperor’s Wrath. Destroy her and we will get on with our meeting.”

Another Sith rose. “I will not risk angering the Emperor. Let there be a duel. We will know then that the one who lives speaks truth.”

“I agree to those terms,” Morda said.

Baras sighed, as if this whole conversation was a mild annoyance. “Fine. The Master will grant the slave’s last wish. The Emperor awaits your death, Morda. And he shall have it.”

Morda drew her lightsaber, and it blazed to life with a hiss. “I have never been, and never will be, your slave.” She leapt into the air.

Baras was immediately forced onto the defensive. Their blades skittered against each other with a buzz until Baras threw Morda backwards with a wave of his hand. Morda was on her feet again in an instant, driving home a flurry of strikes. Quinn watched, his muscles tense, as Morda danced on the balls of her feet, twisting and spinning, always just out of Baras’s reach. The Council members were silent, but Quinn could see that they were riveted, their eyes pinned to every move. Were they already calculating who would win?

Baras was slower and clumsier than Morda, but he was clearly strong in the Force. Arcs of lightning jumped along his fingers and bolts shot out at Morda during moments when she was the most vulnerable. There was a collective hiss of surprise when one of Morda’s blades nicked Baras in the arm, causing him to stumble.

Baras threw himself into the battle with renewed vigor, pounding his feet against the ground, creating a ripple of lightning that snaked across the floor. Morda was momentarily stunned, and in that instant, Baras raised her into the air, Force choking her.

Quinn held his breath, his own memories of being so attacked by Baras sending a wave of revulsion through him. Morda struggled and Quinn clenched his fists, knowing that he should not interfere yet. Once he took action, his own death would be a given. He would not stand by and watch Morda die, however. He would only act if Morda’s life were on the line.

He must have been broadcasting his thoughts unintentionally, because Baras’s head snapped around and Quinn was pinned under the cold, empty stare of his mask. Baras dropped Morda to the ground, leaving her to lie on the floor in a gasping heap.

“Quinn.” Bara’s voice rippled through the chamber and wormed into Quinn’s mind like the wriggles of a maggot, grotesque and unbearable. Quinn stared into his blank face and prepared for the worst.

“You cowardly traitor,” Baras said. “How dare you show your face here. You failed me utterly. Do you even know who you serve?”

“I am no longer conflicted, Darth Baras.” Qunin’s voice sounded thin and small in the vast, open space of the council room. He raised his voice to better match the conviction behind his next words. “I know where my loyalties lie...and it is not to you.”

Baras’s voice roared through the chamber. “You miserable pile of dung! I will see that your suffering is prodigious!”

A flash of light seared across Quinn’s retinas and suddenly he was staring up at the ceiling, having no memory of how he had ended up on the ground. Pain shot through his limbs, hot and furious, and Quinn curled into himself, letting loose a scream. Around him lightning hissed, and Quinn smelled smoke and burning hair. His throat was on fire, though whether it was from screaming or the lightning itself he didn’t know. Time lost all meaning. One moment he was swallowed in darkness and the next he felt engulfed in flame.

Another scream, this one not his own, tore through the air. The pain vanished and a shadow fell across his closed eyelids. Quinn blinked and there was Lord Morda, standing over him, her lightsaber held before her like a brand of fire. There was another crackle of lightning, and Quinn flinched involuntarily, but no pain assaulted him this time. Instead, an array of sparks deflected off of Morda’s brilliant red blade and she trudged forward as if slogging through mud, pushing back the arc that streamed from Baras’s hands.

Quinn’s consciousness winked in and out, the sounds of battle rising and falling in his ears. Distantly he heard Baras chiding Lord Morda.

“Your feelings for this Force-blind are weak and foolish. Why do you defend him?”

“This fight is between you and me, Baras.”

The clash of blades sounded again and the floor beneath Quinn trembled under the weight of their leaps and blows. Quinn saw Morda briefly, tilted sideways in his vision, twirling on her feet like a dancer. He blinked and she was gone, the battle having shifted out of his range of vision. He stared at his arm laying in front of his face, noticing that all the hairs were singed clean off and his fingers were twitching of their own accord. His heart beat erratically in his chest.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but dimly he became aware that the sounds of battle had ceased. He willed himself back to consciousness and did his best to pry open his eyes.

Morda was standing in the center of the floor, her back to him. At her feet lay the large, still shape of Baras’s body. She looked up at the council, most of whom were now on their feet.

Quinn may have been born without any Force sensitivity, but even he could feel the energy in the room at that moment, the surprise, and yes even the fear. Darth Vowrawn was sitting back in his chair, his smile smug and exultant. Quinn slowly sat up, his arms shaking and his body drenched in sweat.

“Let the enemies of the Empire tremble!” Darth Vowrawn left his chair and raised his arms to the sky. “The Emperor’s Wrath shall consume them all!”

Quinn stared at Morda’s hand as she came and held it out to him. Behind her, the body of Darth Baras lay motionless, his mask up-ended and strewn on the floor at his side. Quinn got to his feet and took a tentative step forward. Baras was bald, his face wrinkled and scarred, his skin turned pale as the color of ash from years of dark side rage.

He tore his eyes away and found Morda watching him closely.

“Baras is dead then,” Quinn said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“Yes.”

_Then it is truly over. I am free of him at last._

00o00

“So, what do you know about this planet?” Morda adjusted the straps on her seat harness and peered out the window of the tiny spacecraft. How this ship was supposed to get them through Makeb’s volatile atmosphere in one piece she couldn’t guess. She had to trust that the pilot was true to his word. He’d assured them that a smaller ship was preferable when it came to navigating the planet’s electromagnetic interference. If he was wrong, there would be hell to pay.

"I pulled Makeb's tourism profile, my lord. The resort prices are staggering.” Quinn flipped open a pocket on the chair’s armrest, discovered a bottle of space sickness pills and dropped them back in again. “Far above a captain's salary," he added.

“Moff Broysc is a danger to the Empire and everyone in it, not to mention that you deserve to see this through. I don’t mind burning through some credits for that.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your generosity is well appreciated.”

It had been two months since Morda had struck down Baras. During that interval, Quinn had needed some time to recover from his ordeal facing Baras’s attack, and the rest of the crew had been awarded a much deserved vacation. But Morda was itchy now for action.

“Where to first?” Morda wasn’t used to giving someone else the reins when it came to making major decisions and it felt odd to be deferring to Quinn. This was Quinn’s doing however, and ultimately would be his triumph. Morda found herself genuinely eager to see him succeed.

“We’ll check in at the resort and then see if that data spike Vette gave us does the trick. Once we get into their security and booking system, I should be able to track down Broysc.”

“Right. I’ll just find a nice mineral salt bath to soak in while I wait.” She paused and then glanced over at Quinn. His face was impassive and blank. “Just kidding, Quinn.”

“Well.” He cracked a smile. “I never know with you my lord.”

The ship shuddered underneath them as the engines engaged and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom from the cockpit.

“Arrival will be in a little over an hour. Don’t hesitate to take the sick pills or calming drops if you need them.” The intercom clicked off.

“Do the tourists go through this too, I wonder?” Morda stared at the glowing spaceport lights as they passed by. The ship broke through into open space and picked up speed.

“I believe the conditions on and around the planet have worsened recently, my lord.”

“Well, we should have no trouble booking a room then.”

00o00

The elevator carried Quinn up to the higher levels of the resort. Outside the glass, a wall of colorful iridescent tile shimmered in the lights, reflecting Quinn’s face and body back at him as a ghostly double. Quinn touched the data spike in his pocket, waiting for Morda’s signal. Finally it came.

“I’ve spotted him,” she spoke into his ear piece. “He’s here on the barge all right, sitting at one of the gambling tables. One of his bodyguards is with him.”

“Good,” Quinn said quietly. “Can you get any closer? Any sign of the second bodyguard?”

“No sign, but he can’t be far. I’ll sit at the table and see if I can get a listen.”

An hour before, Quinn had fitted Morda with a microphone and transceiver and sent her out to the pleasure barge that was floating in the chasm just outside the resort. Quinn was too recognizable, but Moff Broysc would not know Morda, nor was he likely to question a Sith. If they could get some proof, maybe even a recording, demonstrating Broysc’s lack of discretion, perhaps he could be persuaded to sign the resignation letter Quinn had written up. Quinn was not above threatening the moff’s reputation in order to see him gone. The man had caused enough harm, had botched enough missions, and put too many lives in danger for Quinn to stand idly by any longer. He was here on Makeb now, relaxing and enjoying every pleasure money could offer while the rest of the Empire fought and died to win this war. It was a disgrace and the Empire would be better off without him. Also, he admitted, he would feel a deep personal satisfaction in taking Broysc down and letting him know that it had been Quinn who had orchestrated the end of his career, just as Broysc had tried to destroy Quinn’s own career twelve years earlier.

The elevator opened and Quinn stepped into the hallway. Given Makeb’s political unrest and increase in groundquake activity these past few months, there were few guests frequenting Makeb’s normally popular vacation spots. Quinn continued down the empty corridor until he reached Broysc’s suite. He paused at the door, hoping that Vette’s spike would work. It slid into the door slot with a faint click. Quinn felt his stomach lurch when the light stayed red, but then, with a little jiggling, it turned green and the door unlatched and swung open.

As expected, Broysc’s suite was ostentatious and gaudy. Quinn’s feet sunk into the lush carpet as he entered the room, and he must have tripped some invisible sensor because there was a faint swish as an air freshener engaged and quiet music began to play from hidden speakers in the walls. Through an open doorway Quinn could see the bedroom and what looked like a small bar, and another doorway connected this suite to the one next to it, presumably for the use of Broysc’s bodyguards. This room was had comfortable plush couches and a small datacenter located against the far wall. Vette’s spike worked here too, thankfully, immediately giving him access to Broysc’s hotel account. He had gotten a considerable discount on the room, Quinn saw, but he had made up for that by purchasing every amenity the resort offered.

Quinn flicked on his comm. “Vette, I’ve got the names of the bodyguards. Can you run them through?”

“Sure thing.” Vette voice sounded tinny being broadcast from the Empire’s station on one of the planet’s gravity hooks. Quinn would have preferred that they do such delicate work from the ship’s computers, but Makeb’s volatile atmosphere interfered with comm signals and so they had been forced to abandon that option.

“Ok,” Vette said. “Karatine Yavro, female human, clean record, a few commendations three years ago for superior performance in the field, was assigned to Broysc shortly after.”

“And the second?”

“Officially Broysc doesn’t have a second bodyguard, Quinn.”

“Is that so? Interesting. What does the citizen registry have on the man?”

“Give me a minute...here...wait...yeah, here he is. He goes by numerous aliases, but most of them have the first name of Tibarr. Human male, wanted in three systems for armed robbery and weapons smuggling. Looks like he might have been contract hired as well. Definitely a shady guy. No wonder Broysc didn’t want to put him officially on the payroll.”

This could be good, Quinn thought. Hiring a common thug was clearly against regulations.

There was a burst of static and Morda’s voice cut in. “Quinn, we’ve hit the motherlode. Broysc is causing a scene. I think he’s trying to bet one of the ships in his fleet as collateral.”

“Ludicrous. That man needs to be-” Quinn closed his mouth as a click was heard from the suite’s door.

There was no time to find cover. Quinn aimed a paralyzer dart at the doorway and as soon as the bulky figure began to step through the door he released it. There was a grunt, and the second bodyguard - that’s who it had to be because this was no chamber attendant, that’s for sure - slumped against the door. The door flew open under his weight, banging loudly against the wall as the man collapsed to the ground. From the twitching of his right arm, it appeared he was struggling to reach his blaster, but realizing this was futile, he craned his head and glared at Quinn instead.

“You’re Tibarr I presume.” Quinn aimed his blaster at the man. He had only a few minutes before the effects from the dart wore off. He also had to make this quick before someone else came down the hall. His mind raced. Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage.

“Who…” Tibarr was having difficulty speaking through his partial paralysis, causing his words to come out slurred. “...the hell are you?”

“You are not exactly in the position to be asking questions.”

Tibarr squirmed about on the floor, trying in vain to get his limbs back under his control. Finally he slumped onto the carpet, his head skewed awkwardly in Quinn’s direction.

“This could get ugly between us. But it doesn’t have to end that way.”

Tibarr gritted his teeth, either from pain or frustration. “Spit it out, man.”

“Your employer’s glory days are over,” Quinn said. “Broysc is out there now, illegally gambling away the Empire’s assets. He hired you, which is also illegal. When Broysc goes down, so will you.”

Quinn crossed to the doorway and leaned over Tibarr, checking the hallway for any signs of life. It was still quiet. He pulled his head back in and stared down at Tibarr’s prone body on the floor.

“I’ll give you an out, Tibarr. You can work for me instead.”

Tibarr laughed, a sound that came out more like a wheeze. “You could never pay as much.”

Quinn raised his arm and aligned the blaster’s sight at Tibarr’s head. “Your payment will be getting to keep your life.” He wouldn’t shoot Tibarr here in the hotel unless he had to, but he would turn Tibarr over to the authorities.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to bring Moff Broysc to me, alive. Then I will pay for your safe passage off this planet.”

Tibarr paused to consider this. “Broysc is a crazy bastard. You gonna kill him?”

“Answer my question. Yes or no.”

“All right, I’ll do it.”

“Good. I will give you the coordinates for where to bring the moff.” Quinn holstered his blaster and stepped over Tibarr. He paused in the hallway. “One more thing Tibarr. Don’t try to run. The Sith that I work for will take out a bounty on your head -- if she doesn’t decide to hunt you down herself.”


	15. Chapter 15

Quinn reached the top of the incline and took a few deep breaths. The air was saturated with the spicy scent of some unfamiliar flower, and the cries of strange birds echoed off the canyon walls far below. Here the path diverged, one section meandering back down the hill, while the other twisted around an outcropping and continued further up towards the top of the mesa. This second path was blocked by a metal fence, on which was hung a sign.

_Danger!  
Trail closed due to unstable conditions._  


“Here it is,” Morda said, appearing at his side. She pulled the gate toward her, creating a small gap, and sucked in her gut as she pried herself through it. Quinn followed, but was forced to swung his leg over the top of the gate to climb over instead. He had seen first hand how the groundquakes on this planet could collapse an entire mesa in mere seconds, and he hoped that they would have no such fatal encounters today. It was dangerous enough that they were here for their final confrontation with Moff Broysc. He had expected to be more nervous, but instead he felt clear-headed and calm.

At the mesa’s top was an outcropping consisting of a few bushes and stunted trees. Beyond that the earth abruptly dropped away, leaving nothing but a vast expanse of brilliant blue sky.

“What the-?” Morda was leaping to her feet next to a rock partially hidden by branches. “Damn it all, that was close. Come look at this Quinn.” She was peering over the top of the bush and looking down.

Quinn approached and leaned over the rock. Behind the bushes was a ring of earth choked with weeds and tree roots. In the center, the ground fell into a dark, wide abyss, so deep that he could not spy the bottom.

“Many of the mesas here are riddled with caves, my lord.” A chill breeze wafted up from the hole, carrying with it the damp, woody odor of plant roots and mulch. Quinn pulled back, an uneasy shiver passing through him. Who knew how deep the pit went? “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to sit too far back on that rock. It doesn’t look stable.”

Morda bent and snatched up a stone. She held it out over the hole and then dropped it. A long silence followed. Quinn was about to question whether they were on a ledge that the hole simply went all the way through, when a faint splash echoed up from far below.

“Damn,” Morda said. She gave the hole a suspicious glare and settled on a rock some distance away.

Tibarr holoed Quinn and then appeared shortly after, trudging up the hill with a surly-looking Broysc being prodded ahead of him. Broysc was red-faced and furious, muttering to himself and clawing at the slave collar around his neck. When he spotted Quinn waiting at the top of the mesa he became nearly incoherent with rage.

“You! I should have known that Admiral Malcontent would be behind this! Who released you from your cage? Your next one will be coffin sized! No, urn sized! In a locket I wear around my neck! I should have blown Balmorra away-”

Broysc’s rant was cut short when Tibarr engaged the shock mechanism on the collar.

“Stars, just shut up, will you?”

Broysc fell silent, but his eyes skittered back and forth between Morda and Quinn, his lip twitching as if he could barely contain the remains of his previous verbal assault. Broysc looked smaller and more frail than Quinn had remembered. He was an old man now, his hair gone white and his eyes pale and watery.

“Broysc, everything you have done here on Makeb will soon be public knowledge. You are not fit to be making crucial war time decisions.”

Quinn pulled a holopad from his pocket and held it out to the moff before continuing. “High Command will not allow these crimes to go unpunished. You can be relieved of your position in disgrace, or you can resign and keep your dignity. Sign this letter. It has already been written.”

Broysc looked through Quinn as if he weren’t even there, his gaze settling on Morda behind him.

“It was you, Sith, wasn’t it? You let him off Balmorra! Are you out of your mind? It was his blunder that let the Jedi targets escape the bombardment on Taris!”

Morda glanced in Quinn’s direction. “I didn’t realize you were over three hundred years old, Quinn.”

Broysc had barely paused to take a breath and was continuing to rave about epic military failures from history, attributing them all to Quinn’s doing.

Quinn gave Morda a nervous look. “I can only assume that some kind of dementia has set in.” The situation was far worse than Quinn had ever suspected. Broysc was not merely incompetent, he was mentally insane. Having him at the helm of any major military operation would be more than just careless, it would be suicidal. Broysc was too far gone to even recognize his own folly. Appealing to a normal man’s fear of public disgrace and embarrassment would mean to nothing to Broysc. Quinn looked down at the letter of resignation he had penned. It was useless and inadequate for dealing with something of this magnitude.

“He’s a lunatic,” Morda said. “He should be committed.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Broysc was gradually working himself up into a frenzy. Spittle flew from his lips and his voice grew more shrill. It was echoing faintly now off the canyon walls. He pointed a crooked finger in Quinn’s direction.

“You are nothing! Nobody! Your insubordination is ruining the Empire! I will have you put to death! No, even better, I demand that you kill yourself now! Do it! Do it now, I command you!”

Men had died due to this man’s incompetence. How could no else see it? Were they too afraid to act against him? Of course they were. Quinn stared at the moff, the man who had nearly ruined his career. Quinn had suffered through years of caution and doubt, fearing to lose his dreams again due to the whim of another callous superior like Broysc. Broysc had shamed him in front of the tribunal, made his accomplishments inconsequential against the stigma of a court martial. Quinn thought of the hours of toil and late-night study that he had endured throughout his time at the academy, how hard he had worked for his position at the top of his graduating class, the discretion he had shown in making careful tactical decisions, decisions which others often took credit for. _Morda was right_ , he realized. _I have been ruled by fear._ He would be afraid no longer. This charade had gone far enough.

Quinn replaced the holocomm back into his pocket and slowly drew his blaster. Broysc was still hurling insults at him, and Quinn watched them spew from his lips, feeling strangely calm. Yet far within him, a coil of rage unfurled, awakening like a sleeping giant. _It is not revenge. It is justice._

“My lord.” Quinn’s voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. Morda must have sensed the change in him. She turned, her red eyes aglow with pride, like the kind a teacher would have for a student who had finally surpassed all expectations.

“I’ve resisted all along, but this is personal.” Quinn raised the blaster. A sigh escaped him, the breath of many years of bottled up self-denial. _I am no longer chained. I am free._

“Permission to execute the moff.”

“You deserve your rightful redress, Quinn. Take it.”

Quinn did not get the chance to pull the trigger. A blast blew him off his feet, hurling him into the air. On either side of him, Morda and Tibarr were blurs rocketing backwards as well. _Damn it all, Tibarr failed to remove Brosyc’s pulse detonator!_ Quinn barely had time for the thought to register when he landed hard, his lungs flattened by the impact. For a moment his body skittered across the ground, the gravel beneath him transformed into a field of tiny knives which scraped the skin clean off his palms and chin. He was perilously close to the edge. His fingers latched onto a hardy clump of weeds, finally slowing his momentum. He spotted his blaster nearby and lunged for it, stumbling to his feet.

Broysc had his back to him and was breaking into a run. Quinn stared down the sight of his blaster, aiming for a head shot.

“Broysc!”

The moff turned instinctively at the sound of Quinn calling his name, and in that split second Quinn saw Brosyc’s face frozen into a look of blind terror. Quinn squeezed the trigger.

Broysc’s head snapped back and his whole body jerked, his arms flailing out seconds before he crumpled to the ground. There was a tiny smoking hole burned into Broysc’s forehead and Quinn knew his shot had been true.

“Quinn!”

Morda’s scream was raw with fright. He raced towards the sound, dread crawling over him as he realized why he couldn’t see Morda anywhere. He threw himself across a rock near the bushes where Morda had been sitting earlier and leaned out over the yawning mouth of the underground cavern. Morda’s red face was almost obscured by shadow, but she was there, gripping a rocky ledge, her feet swinging over empty air. She swore then, the last words Quinn would hear her utter.

Then she fell.

“Morda!” Quinn’s strained voice echoed back at him in an obscene mockery of his horror, spiraling around the hole’s dark edges. A distant splash followed.

Quinn stared into the darkness, stunned. This was a mistake surely, or just a bad dream. How could the moment of his triumph have turned into such a nightmare?

 _Your lord - no, your love - is down there. You can’t give her up for dead!_ Quinn ran to Tibarr’s side, who was slumped against a jutting block of stone. His hair was matted with blood and lots of it. Quinn bent to his side, rifling through Tibarr’s belt pouch with one hand, while shaking him with the other.

“Tibarr!” He stopped and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Quinn resumed his search in earnest and soon found what he was looking for. Tibarr had carried a grapple hook, thank the stars.

Quinn raced to the hole’s edge and engaged the launch mechanism on the hook. It shot out with the force of a gun, burying itself into the ground nearby. Once he set the release and got the rope pulled out as far as it would go, he leaned over the edge of the cavern and screamed Lord Morda’s name. No answer. He dropped the rope into the opening and listened for a tell-tale splash, but was greeted with silence. Just how deep was this black hell hole? It didn’t matter. He had to go down there.

He sat on the edge and wrapped his leg around the rope. The cavern’s maw swallowed him as he descended, cloaking him in blackness. The constant moaning of the wind across the mesa tops was muffled here, the bird calls silenced and the air noticeably chilly. Soon even the faint sounds of the outside world faded away, and Quinn’s ears began to adjust to the voice of the cavern. The acoustics here were powerful and strange, making it impossible for Quinn to pinpoint any one direction as being the source of sound. The cavern whispered all around him, and Quinn imagined the cave itself as Makeb’s mouthpiece, breathing and sighing like a living thing. Fear creeped down between Quinn’s shoulder blades and made an icy trail along his spine. Morda is down here, he reminded himself.

Gradually, Quinn realized that he was not, in fact, in absolute darkness. Around him the cavern opened up into what he could vaguely discern as a giant cave, with domed walls more impressive than any Jedi temple. _By the stars_ , he thought, _this cave was beneath us all the while._ How long until the roof collapsed completely? Below him the cave bottom went on forever. He continued his descent, finally seeing that the the water was closer than he had realized. It was so clear that he had been able to see right through it, making the cave’s end seem deeper than it was. Or perhaps that was all relative. How deep did the lake go?

Quinn carefully lowered himself to the end of the rope. He would have to let go and drop into the water from here. It wasn’t far, but once in the water, there would be no way for him to reach the rope again. He cursed and his voice bounced around the walls of the cavern, sounding deeper and less like his own with every echo. He’d come this far, perhaps the lake had a shoreline that was out of sight. What else was there to do?

He let go of the rope.

The shock of the icy water drove the air from Quinn’s lungs. He gasped, the mineral rich water tasting bitter and metallic. He stared down into the water, seeing boulders, ledges, and a continuation of the cave far below. Where was Morda? She was Sith and that surely gave her a physical advantage, but was she able to hold her breath this long? Had the shock of the fall rendered her unconscious? Had she been swept away in some unseen subterranean current, disappearing far into the caves tunnels below? The thought blanked out Quinn’s mind with terror. Drowning in this forgotten place would be a horrible way to die.

“Morda!” he screamed. The desperation made his voice break, and hearing his own fear echoing back at him filled him with panic. He splashed about, swimming first one way and then the other, squinting into the water’s depths for something, anything that could be a sign of Morda.

Then he saw it. A glint far below the water’s surface, the reflection of light on metal. It was one of Morda’s lightsaber hilts. Quinn swam towards it until it was directly underneath him. Then he sucked in a lungful of air and dove.

The cold water squeezed around his head in a band of pain as Quinn forced his body into the depths of the pool. His fingers closed around Morda’s lightsaber and he shoved it into the waistband of his pants. The lightsaber had fallen onto a ledge, yet the pool continued on beneath it, shadowed in darkness. Quinn ducked under the ledge.

This great abyss did have a bottom after all. There was Morda struggling not far from the rock bed, looking like she was trying to swim upwards. Quinn guessed that she had gotten lost under the ledge and was having trouble maneuvering around it and out. Her left arm was turned at an odd and sickening angle, and while her eyes were open, they looked bulging and blank. Did she see him at all? He grabbed her around the waist and kicked fiercely from underneath her, propelling her towards the surface. His whole body was burning now for air and the urge to breathe was almost overwhelming.

At last they broke the surface. Morda splashed about awkwardly, her face contorted with pain, while huge gasps wracked her body. Quinn curled his arm around her and pulled her back against him. Then he began to swim for shore.

Damn it all, was there a shore? Quinn swam, trusting to luck that this pool didn’t end at a wall. He refused to think about what he would do if that happened. Suddenly his feet hit something and he stumbled against rock. The pool was shallow enough here to stand. He climbed up more layers of rock, but Morda was crumpled next to him, unable to climb with one arm and too weak and pull herself out. Quinn awkwardly pulled her closer by her good arm and then stood up to carry her. He had found a shore. A narrow one, granted, but it was a dry place to rest nonetheless. Quinn sunk to his knees, laid Morda on the ground and then slumped over beside her. Her chest was still rising and falling unusually fast, her body shaking from the cold, but most unsettling of all was the way she stared upwards with unseeing eyes.

Quinn leaned over her, gathering her closer to his body and gently turning her face towards his. He chanted her name over and over and said other meaningless things. At last she blinked and her eyes met his, clear recognition dawning across her face like the sun breaking over the horizon. She reached out with her good arm and stroked Quinn’s face. The faintest smile passed across her features.

“Oh, thank the stars.” Quinn buried his face against her shoulder, feeling her hair tickling his cheek. “I thought...I thought I’d lost you...” For once, Quinn decided that he’d had enough of dangerous pursuits. They needed a vacation. And not one on Makeb.

Morda’s hand reached out for his, squeezing his fingers tightly. Quinn raised his head and brought Morda’s hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“Your arm looks broken,” he told her. “Hold on just a little longer.”

She winced and nodded. Quinn pulled out his holocom, pressed the button, and held his breath. It worked.

“I’m getting us out of here.”

00o00

Quinn entered the med center and found Morda sitting up in bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows. Her color was good, although her arm was a cast with a vial of kolto embedded in it. He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb the outline of her limbs beneath the sheets. Leaning in, he kissed her on the cheek and murmured in her ear.

“The body has been disposed of, my lord. Broysc fell off the cliff edge due to his own negligence in choosing to enter a path that had been closed to the public.”

“His poor decisions have finally caught up with him then.”

“So it seems.”

A shadow fell over the doorway and Morda looked up, her face brightening. “What’s this? A get-well party?”

Broonmark slunk through the doorway, burbling something about Morda’s new battle scars being a mark of pride. Behind him came Pierce and Jaesa, followed lastly by Vette, who was carrying a large box. She set it on Morda’s lap and clasped her hands, nearly bouncing on her feet.

“Open it!”

Quinn watched Morda’s face as she lifted the lid. A joyous, childlike grin stretched across her face. “Oh! A cake!”

Pierce leaned in and pointed a thick finger at the inscription. “Wrote that part myself, m’lord. All their choices were a bit on the frilly side. Thought something more direct was better for you.”

Quinn peered into the box and saw that the cake had been crudely piped with the words, “Heal Fast Dammit!”

Morda chuckled.

“Excellent, let’s have some.” Morda held out the box and Quinn took it over to a side table.

As he sat in Morda’s room, watching the sunlight stream in and eating cake, Quinn realized that he felt happier than he had in a very long time.


	16. Chapter 16

The throb of the music carried out into the street, where a long line of people fidgeted, some of them giving Quinn glares as he walked past them to the door. The bouncer looked him up and down as he approached, an expert assessment which took no more than a mere fraction of a second. Quinn stopped and waited for him to pull out his identification scanner, but instead he just lightly tapped his temple and nodded for Quinn to pass. That's when Quinn noticed that the man had a cybernetic eye, no doubt already equipped with whatever device he needed to do the job.

Quinn entered the nightclub and was immediately sucked into a dizzying array of sound and light, so disorienting that he had to pause to take it all in. The room was vast and multi-storied, with enormous light displays that created rhythmic patterns from floor to ceiling. The air sparkled as it caught the spinning lights, created from a haze of heat that made it difficult to pick out anyone among the crowd. How was Quinn supposed to find Morda here?

After working his way through the mass of bumping bodies, Quinn found a set of spiral stairs. He followed it and had just reached the top step when he felt a hand fondling him from behind. He nearly tripped. He turned and found the owner to be a smartly dressed, but clearly drunk, young woman. She grabbed ahold of a pillar to steady herself as she reached the end of the stairs, leaning too close as she topped the landing. Quinn took her hands, which were already snaking over him, and removed them, shaking his head. She pouted and swayed on her feet as she shifted to eye someone behind him.

Quinn turned and saw Vette waving him towards her from a spot near the balcony edge. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "Over here loverboy." Quinn was too relieved to see her to even feel that peeved.

"Follow me!" She practically had to yell in Quinn's hear to be heard.

Morda had a small private room on the top floor, with glass walls and its own balcony overlooking the main dance floor. Morda rose from the table where she was sitting as soon as Quinn entered the room. She smiled brightly at him when he leaned in to kiss her.

"Happy birthday, my lord."

"Thank you, Quinn. Now where's that present you promised me?" Her tone was playful, but her eyes flicked purposely towards his empty hands. Quinn had been hinting about his birthday gift to her for weeks, giving her nothing but evasive non-answers. He was quite enjoying her exasperation.

He stepped close to her shoulder, running a hand down her arm and sliding his fingers discretely around one her wrists. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"That's for later this evening."

She turned and met his eye, bestowing a smile on him that momentarily made him forget to breathe.

He had spoken truth about his desire to spent a private evening alone with her, but that was not the only gift he had in mind. He was assaulted by a brief pang of nerves, which he attempted to quiet with another deep breath.

"Where's Pierce?"

Vette spoke up to answer him. "He showed up with some Rattataki. She lasted barely ten minutes before she got them both thrown out for starting a fight with some guy twice her size." 

Vette shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"Was she winning?" Jaesa looked up from her drink, showing what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

Vette tilted her head in thought. "Yeah, I'd say she was. Pierce was clearly infatuated with her."

Morda laughed. "She sounds like just his type."

Quinn seated himself. A wandering droid came by with a fizzbrew for Morda, so Quinn ordered a flask of hard cider. From under the table, Morda's hand moved across his knee and settled there. Quinn contented himself with observing the play of light and color across Morda's hair as she laughed with Vette and shared stories with Jaesa. Morda was more relaxed and happy than ever Quinn had seen her and it was having infectious effect on all the crew. Even Jaesa gave Quinn only a minimum of predatory looks before growing distracted by something - or someone - beyond their glass windows. Vette shared an animated story that drew a laugh from everyone. Inevitably, however, a particular song came on and Morda's stood up from the table, grabbing Quinn by the arm and giving him a tug.

"Let's get out there and dance."

Jaesa, Quinn noticed, was quietly slipping away, probably to go harass some unsuspecting Imperial, but Vette was bouncing up and down like a little girl, eager to get on the dance floor.

Quinn shook his head. Morda crossed her arms and frowned at him.

"I always promised I'd get you to dance at a cantina, Quinn. I want to see you loosen up."

"Come on, Morda," Vette grabbed Morda by the arm, a surprisingly familiar gesture Quinn noted. She shot Quinn a grin. "Let's show him how it's done."

"I'm coming back for you later," Morda said. Vette was quickly pulling her away. "Count on it."

Quinn nursed his drink and scanned the dance floor far below, trying to spot Morda or any of the others. He was reluctant to make a fool of himself out there. His eye found Morda in the crowd. The natural sway of her hip, the ease with which she captured the essence of the music in her movements, showed an inhibition that Quinn simply could not summon himself. His trained restraint prohibited such an open display of energy and innuendo. Something in the music's deep, primal beat, however, awoke an itch inside him. He was transported to a memory that he had not revisited in some time, of the sensual image of Morda in her airy dress, dancing with him cheek to cheek at her mother's party. How easily his mind conjured up the sweet scent of her perfume curling around him and the feel of her warm skin beneath his hand. He had thought then that he was simply out of practice in such situations, but now he could clearly see how smitten he had been.

Vette bounded into the room to take a few sips of the drink she had left behind. Her cheeks glowed and she gave him a genuine smile.

"This is the best day of my life, Quinn."

"It is?"

She grew serious as she pulled her holopad out of a back pocket. She tapped it a few times and then then slid it slowly across the table towards Quinn. "Look what happened earlier today," she said.

Quinn picked it up. It was an official document, signed he saw, with Morda's sprawling signature. Quinn read over the opening paragraph several times. As of today, Vette was no longer a slave in Morda's service. She was free.

Quinn stood and handed her back the holopad. "Congratulations are in order." Did he really mean that? Yes, he realized, he did. He held up his glass.

She beamed and clinked hers with his. "Thank you Quinn."

He took a sip. "What happens now?"

"I get a regular salary, that's what!"

Quinn smiled, relieved to hear that Vette had made no mention of leaving. "I'm glad you'll be staying on the crew."

Vette smirked, then huffed and gave Quinn a dubious look. "Are you really?"

"I am."

"You're a pain in the butt Quinn. But you're ok."

"Thank you...I think."

Vette laughed, her lekku tossing behind her.

Morda's voice carried into the room, before Quinn even saw her. "You two are having way too much fun without me." She strutted in with a smile. "Are you coming now Quinn?"

For a moment, Quinn hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vette shoot him a curious look.

"No, I'm afraid not," he said.

Morda sighed, looking sincerely disappointed, which gave Quinn a pang of guilt.

"All right then." She held open the glass door for Vette and walked away.

Quinn jumped up, swinging open the door and following her out.

"Wait." His voice was lost among the pounding music and din of crowd chatter. Boldness, perhaps prodded by the now empty flask of cider, spurred Quinn into action. He leapt forward and reached for Morda's arm, calling her again, not "my lord," but "Morda." She turned, her eyes searching his face, more attuned to his subtle expressions now that voice communication was compromised. Perhaps she saw earnestness there, or regret, or maybe even the anticipation which was buoying him now. A slow smile crept across her face and she stepped closer.

Quinn took her hand in his. "I would like to dance with you," he said into her ear, "but it needs to be a dance that I know." He pulled back, checking to see if she had understood.

"Lead on." She squeezed his hand.

He pulled her along behind him, leading her down the stairs and all the way to the main dance floor. The late hour meant it was not as packed as it had been earlier. Quinn stepped up and turned to Morda. In the multi-colored lights, her skin was dark, only the bright red of her eyes visible among the shadowed contours of her face.

Quinn leaned into her ear. "Remember the first time we danced together, at your birthday party?"

A smile broke across her face, revealing her white teeth. "Of course."

"Think of this as...a variation."

He held her close and started simply, moving smoothly into the traditional dance positions that every Imperial learned at the academy. Morda slid comfortably into his arms, having grown up in culture where the importance of social gatherings made these moves second nature. The music here was anything but traditional, yet the rhythm was all that was needed. As a Sith, Morda was fit and practiced in many acrobatic combat moves. This translated well to dance, Quinn saw. Her movements were fluid and well controlled, and she responded surprisingly well to his lead. In truth, Quinn had always enjoyed these dances. The subtle communication between partners, the required trust and cooperation, spoke to him of a more civilized era.

He held his hand firmly against the curve of her lower back and guided Morda into a turn, crossing their positions. She feathered her fingers lightly against his collar, taking advantage of their split second of closeness before he gently swung her away and pulled her back again. Her body touched his as she pressed herself closer to him than was really necessary, but he did not feel the need to correct her. Her fingertips caressed his shoulder and she brushed her cheek against his.

"Free spin and return," he spoke into her ear.

She let go and stepped back, whirling in place, her short dress flaring briefly around her hips. He caught her as she returned to position and guided her a few steps back, her feet hesitating slightly, but recovering quickly to work in tandem with his. Her lifted her arm, and she moved effortlessly into a spin, which he cut short in order to face her away from him, guiding her into a quick walk-step that segued into another half-spin to return her to position.

"Fall away," he mouthed against her ear. He let go and she stepped away, her chest heaving and her smile both exhilarated and breathless.

He improvised a few more moves, and was pleased when Morda submitted to his lead with ease, responding to his subtle control with almost uncanny foresight. Perhaps, he realized, her connection to the Force gave her the ability to anticipate his moves in truth.

They were attracting a small crowd of onlookers, Quinn noted. The dance floor was emptying, and Quinn took advantage of the extra space to lead her out towards the middle, giving them more freedom to move. She touched her palm to his, her hips swaying as her steps brought her body in line to complement with his. He slid a hand over the swell of her hip, knowing full well that he had long ago crossed the boundary of acceptable partner contact for this dance. As she turned to face him, her eyes locked with his, fiery and bright, and for a moment Quinn thought he might have understood the euphoria Morda sometimes exhibited after a particularly intense fight. His skin felt hot and flush and he wondered if she could feel the tightening burn of desire that was flooding through him at the sight of her now.

He curled his fingers around hers and led her into a quick turn. When her body spun into contact with his other stationary arm, he supported a hand behind her back and slid his leg behind hers. Could he attempt a dip? Was he crazy to even try? She understood his intention and fell back, allowing him to dip her towards the floor in a fluid motion with only the tiniest hint of uncertainty.

Was it the cider or merely the night's momentum spurring him on? He pulled her up, spinning her slowly and drawing her into a kiss. There was an answering roar of approval from the crowd, and given the volume of response, Quinn wondered just how large a following they had gathered. They slowed to a stop and Morda held his face in her hands, prolonging the kiss. When she at last broke away, she swayed on her feet, looking disoriented and giddy.

Most of the nightclub guests had surrounded the edge of the dance floor, clapping and whistling. Quinn felt a sudden heat warming his face, but he turned and nodded politely to the onlookers. How he could deny that their applause felt good?

As they left the dance floor, Quinn saw Vette in the crowd, her eyes wide as she mouthed the word, "damn." With Morda in tow, he swept past the crowd in search of a quiet retreat. He found a lounge in the back of the club with a plush carpet, dim recessed ceiling lights, and few occupants. In the center of the room was an impressive diorama of a waterfall amidst the jungle flora of Dromund Kaas, with real flowing water and simulated mist. Morda whirled lightly on her feet, planting her hip against the low wall surrounding the diorama. The smile she gave him made his heart skip a beat.

"Well," she said, studying him through lowered lashes, "I was supposed to be the one teaching you to dance, but it seems you have turned the tables on me."

"Perhaps we should do this more often."

"Gladly." She patted the vacant spot next to her and Quinn sat. For a moment they existed in silence, listening to the quiet gurgle of the little waterfall.

Quinn knew that if ever there was a time for the speech he had prepared for Morda tonight, it was now. He clasped his hands and tried to quell the jitters twittering about in his stomach. What if she said no? He would stay and continue to serve her of course. The thought was like a stab in his heart however. She was a Sith, and from a wealthy and influential Pureblood family. Would her family accept him? Was he foolish to think that such a woman would want to join her life to his?

"My lord…" He risked a glance at her. She was gazing off, looking content and thoughtful, her foot tapping unconsciously to the music that spilled from down the hallway. At that moment she didn't look like a Sith. Her strong cheekbones and smooth, ruby skin brought out her youth, and the contours of her dress accentuated the gentle swells of her nimble breasts and slender waist. Still, her limbs were muscular, perhaps the only indication that she was not what she seemed.

If he had children with her, they might not be human, Quinn realized. For a moment he pictured himself with a tiny red-skinned son or daughter bundled in his arms. That child would be just as much his as it was hers, no matter who it most resembled. _My child,_ he thought. _Our child._ Yes, he would like that very much.

He took a quiet breath and began again. "Morda…"

Her eyes fell on him, uncanny and ethereal in the faint light. His courage faltered.

"I joined your crew two years ago today." Damn, that was not what he intended to say at all.

"Yes, you did, didn't you? That birthday was much better than I realized at the time." Her smile was wistful. She blinked suddenly. "It's your second year anniversary. Perhaps I should be giving you a present."

"My lord, that's unnecessary. I was merely reminiscing. We've been through a lot since then. Good and bad."

"It's those things that bind a crew together."

"True. But I was thinking more about us specifically. You and me."

Morda shifted her perch on the wall, angling her body towards his. "You are hard person to get to know." She gave him a playful smile. Then she leaned forward and touched her fingers to his chest, her voice growing serious. "But I know you now, Quinn. We make an exceptional team, you and I. And I trust you with my life."

For a moment, Quinn was rendered speechless. Never would have have hoped to receive such praise, and especially not after their rocky history. If ever he had doubted that he had earned her forgiveness, that doubt was surely washed away now.

"I am honored, my lord." He could not hide the emotion in his voice.

Morda sat back, her face breaking into a smile. "Let's get hitched Quinn."

"Ha! I...I should have known. It's difficult to hide anything from you." Had she seen his intentions in his mind?

"Wait, let me do this right." Morda stood and pulled Quinn to his feet. Then, to his shock, she dropped to one knee, taking his hand in hers.

"Marry me, Quinn." She searched his face, her eyes earnest and bright. "No, that's too much like an order. Let me try again." She grew still for a moment, thinking. "Malavai Quinn," she said, "Will you marry me?"

"I accept. Nothing would make me happier, my lord."

"If I'm going to be your wife, you need to get more comfortable with calling me Morda."

"Well, in that case…" Quinn tugged her back up. "I would like you to call me Malavai."

"How about just 'hubby?'"

Quinn laughed. "I know better than to take you seriously...wife."

"Alright then, Malavai it is."

In the early hours of the morning, Quinn walked out of the nightclub, hand in hand with Morda. They paused at the taxi overlook, where far across the canyon the morning sun was turning the ever present clouds a ruddy shade of orange. A new day was starting and Quinn had never been more hopeful, or more at peace, with his life.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is Kailyo that I paired Pierce with. Heh heh. They are perfect for each other.
> 
> Thanks to Bioware's amazing writers for giving me a fun story to work with. The occasional fragments of dialogue that you may recognize from the game are course Bioware's and not mine.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading. I appreciate your comments and kudos, and just knowing that you are there, reading. Yours words of encouragement really buoyed my spirits. I love to make up stories, I love to talk about writing, and I love to share that with other people. I write for fun, but also because I want to be a better writer. I appreciate hearing when I do something right, but I also recognize that there is still so much to be learned and I'm always trying to refine my skills the best I can.
> 
> Thanks for reading and being a fan of Star Wars along side me.
> 
> So I love analyzing stuff, especially characters and their motivations. Quinn's story has so much depth to it and I was excited to write about him, to get into his head and try to understand why he acts the way he does, especially since he has such a pivotal role to play in the SW class story.
> 
> Here's the author's note that I originally posted after Chap 15, if anyone is interested in reading more of my thoughts on the Quinn/Morda story.
> 
> When I first set out to write this story, there were a few things that I hoped to accomplish. I wanted to show how an unpredictable, passionate Sith could find love with someone who was seemingly her opposite, and I wanted the betrayal to make sense and not turn out to be the great tragedy that it most often was. I wanted my "happily ever after" damn it!
> 
> For the first goal, I knew that I had to show how Morda went from being reckless and selfish to someone who was more self-aware. I had to really shake things up for her in order for her to be able mature like she needed to do. I also wanted her romance with Malavai to feel like it had been earned. She wasn't going to be able to just seduce him and be done with it. She had to become someone that he could trust to make him willing to lower his defenses. I hope I managed to accomplish this.
> 
> As to the "Quinncident," in game I held back on my affection with Malavai for a long time, basically leaving the bulk of the romance for Corellia and after. By playing my game this way, the betrayal took on a different meaning. It wasn't the end of their relationship, it became the beginning. For Morda, it was her "Oh shit" moment, the one that really opened her eyes to finally seeing Malavai as a person instead of an object to be possessed. For Malavai it represented hitting rock bottom, where he stripped away the layers of protective emotional armor that he had built up (necessary for survival in a world run by Sith) and laid it all on the table. Here I am: the good, the bad and the ugly. When Morda accepts him, that is the catalyst which allows him to finally open his heart to her.
> 
> As to why Malavai went through with the betrayal, I wanted to show that he was, above all, a man of his word. I saw his betrayal as a selfless act, driven by desperation and duty, and his choice to sacrifice his own life ("I never expected your mercy"), was the only honorable solution to an impossible dilemma.
> 
> I hope I accomplished what I set out to do, at least to the extent that the story made sense and that you were "with me" as readers. Thanks for reading!


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